


The Dixon Code

by theramblinrose



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Caryl, F/M, Family, Mandrea, Multi, dixons have their code
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-01 08:07:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 26
Words: 67,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23468128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theramblinrose/pseuds/theramblinrose
Summary: Caryl, ZA.  Mandrea.  Dixons had their code.  Nothing mattered as much as family.
Relationships: Andrea/Merle Dixon, Daryl Dixon/Carol Peletier, Merle Dixon/Andrea Harrison
Comments: 50
Kudos: 142





	1. Chapter 1

AN: So, this is the beginning of something new. We’re starting at the very beginning, with a few (or a lot) of changes from the way things were. I won’t tell you too much, because you can simply read it for yourself. 

I do hope you’ll enjoy it, though. I’ve wanted to play with something like this for a while, and the talented gracefull-mess inspired me to finally start working on this. (I’ll plug for her. She’s on Tumblr, so you should look at her images there. You should also check out her videos on YouTube!).

Anyway, I hope you enjoy this little adventure! I appreciate having you along with me! 

I own nothing from the Walking Dead, if that needs to be said. 

I hope you enjoy our start! Let me know what you think! 

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“They’re too close to Merle,” Amy said, leaning up toward the dash like she could get a better look at what was going on outside the dirty windshield that way.

“Sit your ass back,” Daryl said. “Put your seatbelt on.”

Amy laughed to herself.

“We’re moving like—fifteen miles an hour, Daryl,” she chided.

“I know how damned fast we’re movin’,” Daryl responded. “I’m driving, ain’t I?” 

Amy laughed to herself, and she shook her head, but she did sit back in her seat and she did put her seatbelt on. She rested her elbow against the window and slumped in her seat.

“They’re too close,” she repeated. “If he hits his brakes, that asshole’s going to hit him and it’s going to be Andrea he kills.” 

Daryl laughed to himself, a little nervously because the asshole in question was, in fact, a little too close to his brother for comfort—especially given the somewhat rough terrain of the roads they were on and the amount of loose rocks and sand on the road.

“If he hits him, he might spin ‘em out, but I don’t think he’ll kill ‘em. We’re movin’ like fifteen miles an hour. You said it yourself.” 

Amy turned around in her seat and peered out the back window of the truck. Daryl kept glancing in the rearview mirror, himself. He spent just about as much time looking back there as he did looking in front of him.

The most important things in the world, to him, were in the rearview mirror—and the things that came in a close second to that were a car length in front of him.

It was less than two weeks ago when the cracks in the world had first started to show. It had all started with some strange stories on the news—some virus or something was killing people. Then there came the news stories about mysterious murders—bodies found ripped apart, shredded. Those were followed by reports of drug addicts that were so driven out of their minds by whatever the hell they’d taken, that the police had no choice except to kill them in violent and threatening confrontations.

Daryl had watched the news, like everyone else, around everything else that he had to do in life—all the things that filled the hours between sunrise and sunset. He’d talked about the news over beers with his family, but it had always been something that was distant. It didn’t involve the Dixons. 

And the Dixons, really, had enough shit to deal with that they didn’t need to worry too damn much about what was happening somewhere away from them.

They had almost started to ignore the crazy news—like a buzzing noise in the background that soon became undetectable to those who had heard it for so long. But then it all started to get closer to home.

The electricity going out had been the first thing that had caught everyone’s immediate attention. It just stopped, suddenly. Radios were still working, though, on battery power, and cell phone towers were still up. Daryl had figured that it was some kind of local issue. He’d expected to hear of some kind of meltdown at the power plant. He’d sat down at the kitchen table, with a beer, to listen to the news. He hadn’t quite known what to expect, and he certainly hadn’t known what to make of it as he’d listened. Daryl could still remember the feeling—the dizzy feeling that came like just before passing out, and an ice-cold rush in his veins—that followed hearing the report that corpses were murdering people in masses.

Corpses. Walking corpses. 

It was too late to be an April Fool’s joke and far too early to be some kind of Halloween trick. Daryl had put down the beer he was drinking right then. He’d checked it on his phone. He’d called his brother, Merle, and, reaching his sister-in-law, Andrea, instead, because his brother was out working in the yard, he’d told her to check in on her family—just in case.

That was when the shit had hit really close to home.

The news told everyone in the tiny towns, like East River where the Dixons lived, to head toward Atlanta. Places were being shut down, under a nation-wide emergency, to allow everyone to evacuate to their specified evacuation zones. Resources were being pumped to those given locations. Daryl and his family were in East River, and their zone was Atlanta. They were putting up emergency shelters to try and keep the population safe until the CDC could figure out what was going on, and the government could come up with a better plan for how to contain whatever this was.

Daryl’s sister-in-law had found her little sister, Amy, running down the road that her parents lived on, screaming and crying, about a half a mile before she reached her parents’ house. She’d barely pulled the car off the road before she’d called Daryl’s older brother, Merle, to come and meet her. She didn’t know what was going on, and Amy was too hysterical to communicate with her rationally.

Andrea’s first thought was that Amy had gotten into some of the shit that Merle sometimes took if he fell off the wagon. That’s what she told Daryl, later. That hadn’t been the case, though, and by the grace of God, Merle had been in his right mind. He’d come directly there when Andrea had expressed that she was truly terrified, and he’d gone with her to her parents’ house to investigate whether or not what Amy said was true.

It was better that Merle was clean because, if he hadn’t been, it wasn’t even a guarantee that the police would have believed them when they called to report that there were two corpses roaming freely inside the house—and that their youngest daughter had found them like that when one of them had thrown themselves against the glass window in the door, scaring the shit out of her when she’d gotten home from spending the night with a friend.

The Dixons didn’t always have the best track record with the police, but they’d listened to what Merle had to say, and they’d come out to the house, especially in light of everything that was going on. The police had handled the situation. They’d offered their condolences to Andrea and Amy, forbidden any of them to go near the house when they’d promised that none of them had opened the door, and they’d wrapped the whole damned house in “Crime Scene” tape to be dealt with later. The corpses, it seemed were being handled by a higher power than local authorities.

They’d advised Merle to take his family and get to Atlanta—as everyone was supposed to be doing—as quickly as possible. That was the only way, they said, that anyone could ultimately guarantee their safety. Merle would do everything he could to try and guarantee the safety of his family. 

The most important thing to Dixons was family. 

On the whole, life had been hard—in one way or another—for every damned one of them. Each of them had more emotional baggage than they would have had physical baggage if they’d packed up every single thing they owned. None of them pretended to be perfect. 

Dixons didn’t require perfection. 

Really, they only required, of each other, that they wake up each day and try to be a little bit better than they’d been the day before—even if they failed more often than they succeeded. None of them required the blind belief that their loved ones lacked flaws. Every single one of them had a pretty decent dose of realism. 

Dixons required forgiveness, and they required loyalty, but they all offered it in return. 

“He shouldn’t have even brought that thing,” Amy mused. “It’s loud and they said that the people that were—like that? They said they could hear things. Sounds. They could follow sounds, and they could see things. He’s putting Andrea in danger.” 

“I reckon it was Andrea that made her choice to get on there with him,” Daryl said. “Merle wasn’t gonna leave the bike any damn way.” Daryl rolled down the window, lit a cigarette, and hung his arm out the window to stop Amy from bitching before she even got an idea to do so.

Amy Harrison wasn’t his most favorite person in the world. She was twelve years Andrea’s junior, and that made her twelve years Daryl’s junior. She was twenty-five, and she’d been spoiled all her life so that you would never know she was as old as she was. There had always been a certain amount of drama in Andrea’s life surrounding Amy—and, therefore, there had been a certain amount of drama in Merle’s life, and Daryl’s by extension, surrounding the young girl. 

Still, she was Andrea’s sister, and that made her family. And, to Dixons, family meant everything—no matter how dysfunctional it might be, at times.

Back in East River, as soon as Merle and Andrea had gotten away from her parents’ house with Amy, they’d called Daryl and gone back to their place. 

Daryl hadn’t asked too many questions, and he hadn’t wasted too much time wondering what things meant or what they ought to do about this, that, or the other. Nothing really mattered to him except keeping his family safe and, if taking them to Atlanta was what was going to keep them safe, they were going to Atlanta. 

He’d told Carol, his wife, to pack for the three of them, and he’d set about packing some gear for them while she’d gathered clothes, food, and personal items for both of them and their daughter, Sophia. 

Carol was amazing at shit like that. She just knew how to pack and make it look effortless. She’d packed the back of their truck right up like they were going camping, and she’d kept Sophia calm the whole time she was doing it. They were going on a trip, and it was all going to be fine. They were all going together. They would stay together at all times. Nothing was going to happen to any of them, and they were all going to be just fine. It was an adventure, really. At least that’s how Carol had painted it all up for the ten-year-old.

When they’d gotten to Merle and Andrea’s house, Carol had even helped Andrea get her car packed, since Andrea was clearly in shock. Carol had helped her decide what food was best to take, and she’d helped her make everything fit into the back of the car as neatly as if Mary Poppins had packed it. 

For a few moments, standing out in the yard with his brother while Carol and Andrea got everything ready to go, Daryl had started to believe exactly what they’d told Sophia—it was all going to be all right and this was nothing more than a Dixon family adventure. 

They’d left East River with Merle on his bike, Daryl and his family in their truck, and Andrea in her car with Amy. It had been smooth driving for a little bit, but then traffic had slowly started to pick up. Daryl wouldn’t have thought too much about it, really. Travelling down I-20, toward Atlanta, usually meant you were going to run into some traffic. It was only the fact that he saw more and more cars pulling trailers and carrying large amounts of luggage that had led Daryl to accept that they weren’t the only ones heeding the government warnings to head toward Atlanta. 

They’d kept the radio playing low, so that they could hear the announcements being put out on local channels, but Carol had kept morale high by engaging Sophia in conversation, alphabet games, and games of I-Spy.

When traffic had come to a complete stop, and remained that way for a while, Daryl had gotten out to stretch his legs and see what was going on. He’d invited Carol and Sophia to do the same, but he’d advised them to stay close. He recognized people all around them. Despite the fact that there were people from all over Georgia, and possibly from other surrounding states, there were plenty of people from East River and other small, surrounding towns that had slipped right into the flow of traffic before they’d been stopped with Atlanta on the horizon.

Nobody knew what the hell was going on anymore than Daryl or his family. 

Some people on the road shared stories of coming into contact with the Walkers—what Daryl had chosen to call the ambling corpses. There were stories of encounters that were too close for comfort. Everyone assumed that the crowded road and stand-still traffic was probably owing to the government blocking off the roads leading into the city. If they were establishing shelters, they would want to do so without the crowd getting too out of control or rowdy. They would, more than likely, settle in the Atlanta natives before they started ushering in others and handling things in the most organized way possible.

Everyone was in pretty good spirits, really, all things considered. 

They greeted some of their old neighbors, and they got to know some of their new traffic-jam neighbors. As the day wore on toward night, people shared food, and a few of them worked to get small fires burning on the side of the road to allow for some simple cooking. 

They all accepted that they were likely to spend the night out there, with the traffic forever growing behind them and not moving in front of them, before the authorities were ready to open Atlanta to everyone.

Sophia had been sleeping in the backseat of Andrea’s car, where she could stretch out the best, and Amy had been sleeping in the backseat of the truck, which was almost as comfortable, when the chaos had really begun.

Andrea, Merle, Carol, and Daryl had all camped out on the road around their vehicles. There was nothing to do, so they simply sat together in silence and waited until they were tired enough that sleeping cramped in the cars was preferable to sitting awake outside. It really hadn’t been a bad night. The weather was clear and, for the first time in what Daryl imagined was a long time, Atlanta was dark. They could see the stars.

It was Merle that had remarked on the novelty of being able to see the stars, so close outside of Atlanta, just before Andrea had commented on the oddity of the fireworks.

This didn’t seem like the time to shoot fireworks, she’d said. Yet, still, the sky had lit up—again, and again, and again—in bursts of bright orange light.

Daryl would never forget the distant screaming. He’d never forget how it moved closer to them, like it was being carried on waves, as people ran down the interstate screaming about everything that was happening. They were bombing Atlanta. The helicopters flying overhead weren’t bringing supplies, they were bringing chemical bombs. 

With hardly any communication, they’d all ended up somewhere. They’d ended up in the same positions they were in this morning. Carol had gone to get Sophia, and she’d driven Andrea’s car. Daryl had gotten in the truck with Amy. Andrea had crawled on the back of Merle’s bike.

Merle rode ahead enough to see what there was to see, and he doubled back to get Daryl. Daryl cleared the way to make it to the median with Carol behind him—waving the pistol out of his glovebox only once at one asshole that had somewhat threatened to cut her off – and he’d followed Merle to put distance between themselves and the city.

Merle wasn’t always the most dependable person, especially not when he was off the proverbial wagon and looking for artificial comfort for his mind, but when he was dependable, Merle Dixon was the most dependable asshole that had ever lived.

With his head clear, his wife on the back of his bike, his whole family behind him, and the need for survival—for all of them—burning in his gut, Merle Dixon was the most dependable that he was ever going to be. Daryl trusted him, so he followed him, explaining to Amy what was going on when she woke up and crawled into the front seat. 

The rock quarries were far enough away, and secluded enough, that they would be safe there from the government—at least for a while. Merle had slowed, circled around, and spoken to Daryl through the window only long enough to let him know the plan. Then, he’d ridden down to the vehicles behind them—a few assholes that figured they had nothing else to lose, perhaps, and would follow the asshole on the motorcycle—to let them know what was going on, as well. He’d come back to lead the pack, and Daryl had let the squad car in front of him that had been determined, for whatever reason, that he needed to be up front, too.

They were off main roads, now, and following rough little side roads that only those that knew the area decently well would know about. Daryl and Merle had hunted up there hundred times. They’d brought their families to camp at least twice since Daryl and Carol had started seeing each other. Merle knew right where they were going. Soon, they’d be at a good spot—with decent food to be found, enough water for all their needs, and enough concealment that the government would be unlikely to notice them or worry about them.

They could stay there indefinitely. They’d have a safe place to figure out what the hell was going on and to regroup. Whoever the hell wanted to follow them was welcomed.

None of it really mattered to Daryl—and he knew Merle felt the same—as long as their little family unit was fine. 

Whatever the hell the future brought; they’d deal with it—the Dixon way. 

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AN: I hope you enjoyed our start! 

Don’t forget to let me know what you think!


	2. Chapter 2

AN: Here we are, another chapter here. 

As always, I feel like I have to ask forgiveness for a lot of things. 

Many extra characters may be a little OOC here since I’m shaping them to fit this particular story. Also, please excuse the fact that, as always, we’ve got a lot of set up to do as we go along.

There are warnings for discussion of domestic violence here. I think those warnings always come with these characters, but I’m letting you know, just in case, that there’s discussion of it here. There are some mentions of Ed’s other leanings toward Sophia, as well, though nothing graphic (or any more graphic than the show).

I hope that you enjoy! Let me know what you think! 

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Merle was off the bike and directing traffic by the time that Daryl parked the truck and got out with Amy. Amy headed straight in the direction of her older sister. Daryl went straight to the car that pulled up directly behind his truck, and he wrapped Carol in his arms as soon as she was out of the vehicle. After a quick hug, he let her go to accept the running hug that Sophia offered him as she circled around the car.

“You alright?” Daryl asked. “Everything alright?” 

“We’re fine,” Carol assured him, wrapping her arms around Sophia as soon as the girl moved away from Daryl. “But—Daryl—what are we going to do?” 

She slipped her hands over Sophia’s ears. Sophia tolerated the action, and Daryl understood it. 

Carol needed to protect Sophia. Maybe that was instinct in every mother—and certainly it existed in every good mother—but Daryl thought that, maybe, it was a stronger instinct in Carol because of everything that she and Sophia had been through.

Sophia was not Daryl’s biological daughter, even though she was calling him Daddy because it made her feel good—and it made him feel good, too. He’d been in the process of trying to legally adopt her. Just days before, he’d talked to their lawyer—a guy that had worked with Andrea—about the red tape that they had to trudge through for Sophia to fully become his and for her biological father to lose every last right that he had to the girl.

Looking around him, Daryl got the feeling that this—whatever this might be— was going to slow things down more than red tape ever could.

Daryl and Carol had only been married about six months—barely any time to most people. They’d only dated about a year before marrying. Some people might even say that they had rushed into things. Maybe that’s what it had looked like to the outside world. What most people wouldn’t know, if they didn’t know them, was that Carol was everything that Daryl had ever wanted, and everything that he thought he’d never have. She was everything that he never thought he deserved. Just having her in his life, for the past year and a half, had made him a better man than he’d ever thought he could be. Since meeting Carol—just since the first time she’d agreed to have coffee with him—he’d held down a steady job at the same shop, and he’d already gotten two raises. 

That job was gone now, at least until the world got itself turned right-side up again, but at least he knew that he could do it. He could make it all the way to management somewhere, if that’s what he wanted. Maybe he’d own his own shop someday. 

What people didn’t know about Carol was that she’d practically been visibly shaking when she’d agreed to have that cup of coffee with him at Andrea’s urging. What they couldn’t see, now, was that she’d still been wearing the sling, the bruises on her face, the remnants of the busted lip, and the cut above her eyebrow, stitched up with black thread, that was a scar now, when Daryl had first met her for coffee.

The asshole she’d been married to had put her in the hospital more than once—and that was just when it was too bad for her to fix her injuries herself or to hide them.

It had been the last time that he’d put her in the hospital that she’d asked for help—begged for it. It had been that time she’d told the police that she’d actively fought Ed. She’d sought his violence—she’d instigated the last fight. He’d been drunk, and Sophia had been sleeping, and he’d expressed too much interest in the little girl. Carol had put herself, physically, between the man and his daughter many times to keep him from beating Sophia. She’d taken every blow meant for the girl. But when Ed’s interest had started to turn to something else, Carol was ready to kill her husband or die trying. She’d told the police as much. If they weren’t willing to do anything to really help save her, maybe they’d do something to save him.

They’d helped her get out, that time, in a much more real way than before—when they’d only offered her the names of some shelters and a few escape routes that had always ended with her ending up, one way or another, back with Ed.

She’d been terrified to have that cup of coffee with Daryl. She’d been terrified, thanks to having her self-esteem almost ground away to nothing by Ed, that Daryl might not approve of her after he saw her. She’d been terrified that he might run away from a woman with so much baggage and a ten-year-old daughter. She’d been terrified that he might think that his sister-in-law had lost her mind for even suggesting that he have coffee with her at all.

But more than any of that, she’d been terrified that he would show her that all men were the same. 

He accepted her baggage, though, and he showed her his own. He’d shown Carol some of the heaviest things he carried around in his heart and his mind, and he’d showed her everything very early in their relationship. 

By their third date, Daryl had let her see the angry red scars on his back that reminded him of his old man. He hid those scars from most everyone. He’d even worn a shirt every time he’d fucked a woman, until he’d met Carol. After their third date, he’d let Carol see them. Then, he’d let her touch them. He still remembered how his whole body had felt to feel her tenderly caressing them for the very first time. He could recall the surprise he’d felt over the tenderness of the kisses that she’d placed there. 

Most people would have called her a whore, maybe, for sleeping with Daryl that night, after only three dates. She’d cried about it, afterwards, lamenting that her ex-husband had told her often she was a whore, even though he’d been the only man she’d been with before Daryl. 

Daryl didn’t call her things like that. He called her things that made her smile and, more often than not, made her laugh. Sometimes, just for the hell of seeing her caught off guard and giving him that little laugh she had, he’d look up new things to call her: Seductress, Temptress, Siren, Vixen, Enchantress. And, if she was in the right mood, she’d come right back at him with her own playful list of ridiculous names to make Daryl’s cheeks burn hot and to make him press her to stop, even though they both knew he never wanted her to stop: Snookums, Snuggle Bear, Stud Muffin, Sugarbutt, Pookie.

Carol had already been through hell. She deserved all the good she could get, and Daryl was doing his best to give it to her each day that he was granted to spend with her. 

Sophia, too, had been through her own hell. She didn’t know about her father’s perverted appetites, but she had spoken with the lawyer, and the judge, about simply wanting her father—because she didn’t call him Daddy when he wasn’t around to force it—to go away and disappear from her life completely. She was tired of living with the nightmares that he’d given her.

Sophia had seen her mother beaten. 

Times when Carol hadn’t hidden her way quickly enough, and times when she’d snuck down to see what was going on, she’d seen her father beat her mother like he wanted to kill her. She’d heard her mother cry for help, and mercy, from anyone and anything that could offer it. She’d feared losing her mother, and she’d feared what might happen to her if her mother ever lost the fight entirely. She’d seen her mother care for her own injuries, and she’d seen her mother’s crumpled body when she was too bad off to care for herself. 

Sophia knew how to dial 911 without any hesitation, and she knew how to talk to dispatchers without the customary anxiety of small children. And she’d confided in Daryl about how most of her nightmares revolved around what had happened to her mother.

Daryl had sworn to Sophia—on a chocolate syrup oath in her little treehouse—that he’d never hurt Carol like that, and he’d spend his whole life trying to make sure that nobody hurt her or Sophia again. He’d promised Sophia, too, that even if the courts couldn’t make her a legal Dixon, because sometimes the law just wasn’t fair, the chocolate syrup oath was good enough to make her a full-fledged Dixon forever—all she ever had to do was to follow the Dixon code that Daryl and his brother had created, for themselves, the day they’d walked away from identifying their old man’s body and had accepted that they were the last of the old Dixons, and the first of the new.

Family was everything to a Dixon. 

Even a year and a half after escaping their living hell, Carol needed to protect Sophia at all times. Daryl busted the girl out, every now and again, to let her live a little dangerously—but just a little dangerously—and, during those times, he stressed to her how important it was to remember, with more and more welcomed distance between her and her past each day, just how much she loved and appreciated her mother. Sometimes it was important to let her mother take care of her. She’d almost bought that right with her life, after all, several times over—and her life was a price she wouldn’t hesitate to pay if the situation called for it. 

So, Sophia tolerated that Carol covered her ears over with her hands. She rolled her eyes, jokingly, at Daryl and Daryl bit the inside of his mouth so that he wouldn’t laugh at her and give her away to her mother. 

“Government ain’t gonna look for us up here,” Daryl said. “They ain’t gonna worry about a couple of us bustin’ loose and goin’ rogue. They’re blowin’ up Atlanta, right where they told everybody to go, because I guess they’re wipin’ out the majority of the population.”

“But why?” 

Daryl shrugged his shoulders.

“Control the plague or whatever this is? Lessen the numbers?” Daryl said. “I got no more information than what you got, Carol. I swear that I ain’t hidin’ nothing from you. All I know is that it’s not likely they’re going to comb the area looking for stragglers. So, we’re gonna camp here. Give the dust some time to settle. Then, when it’s been a little bit, we’ll see what there is to see. Check shit out.”

“Are we going to be OK, here?” Carol asked. 

Daryl put his hands on either side of her face. Stepping to the side, so that he didn’t crush Sophia between them, he moved close enough to Carol to press his lips to her forehead. When he looked at her again, she was still staring at him with concern on her features. 

“You know us,” Daryl said. “If anybody’s gonna survive whatever the hell this is? It’s Dixons. You know that, right? Huh? What the hell I tell you?” 

Carol smiled, perhaps in spite of herself.

“Can’t nobody kill a Dixon except a Dixon,” Carol said.

Daryl took advantage of her lightened mood to sneak a quick kiss—little more than a peck—and he continued to hold her face so that she would focus on him instead of becoming distracted by anything taking place around them as the cars started to arrive and park around the area. He saw what his brother was doing, now with the help of the police officer. They were surrounding the area with the vehicles. They were securing the camp with cars to begin with. They’d talk about the rest of the security soon. Daryl was sure of that.

“Listen,” Daryl said, brushing Carol’s face with his thumb, “we’re gonna be alright. Those quarries got water and fish. This area’s got good huntin’. You know that. We’re so damn far back here that most of the damn state of Georgia don’t even remember this is back here. We’re gonna be alright here. Just—need your help settin’ up camp. I know you’re good at that. Good at—makin’ chicken salad outta chicken shit.” 

Carol smiled at him. She nodded her head. 

“OK,” she said. “I can help set up tents. I’ll take Andrea to get wood for fires.” 

She dropped her hands from Sophia’s ears and Sophia stepped away, just far enough to keep out of Carol’s grasp. 

“Can I go see the water with Amy?” Sophia asked, pointing after Andrea’s younger sister.

“You stay close to Amy or Andrea,” Carol said. “And you don’t go close to the edge of that water, Sophia. Not right now. Not—until me or your Daddy’s with you.” 

“Don’t worry,” Sophia called, already trotting toward Amy. “I won’t.” 

“Come on,” Daryl said, catching Carol’s arm affectionately and tugging her toward Merle. “Let’s go—see what he’s got in mind.” 

“Who are all these people?” Carol asked, watching as people started milling about, spilling out of their vehicles. 

“People just tryin’ to survive,” Daryl offered. “Like us. Saw us leaving, and I guess they figured they didn’t have a thing to lose.” 

“Do we have enough food for all this?” Carol asked.

“Don’t matter,” Daryl said. “We’ll figure it out. See who everybody is. What they got to offer. We’ll figure it all out.” 

They were just passing by the police officer—still in uniform—that had moved some distance away from Merle to work out some logistics of parking on one side while Merle had gone to help arrange cars on the other side of their designated camp area, when Daryl recognized—all at once and like a bucket of ice water had been thrown on him—who the officer was talking to.

Instinctively, Daryl pulled Carol closer to him.

“Son of a bitch,” Daryl said. “Change of plans. I’ma go talk to Merle. You go distract Sophia.” 

“Why?” Carol asked. She hadn’t noticed. She’d been to focused on taking in everything that was happening and keeping her eye on Merle. “What is it?” 

“Ed Peletier,” Daryl said. “The fuckin’ devil himself’s done popped up in our damned camp. Don’t you worry about it. Just go get Sophia and stay with Andrea. We’ll figure out how the hell to handle it.”


	3. Chapter 3

AN: Here we are, another chapter here. 

As I said before, we have a lot of set up to do. This is the first time I’ve written anything from the very, very beginning, so it’s kind of exciting! 

I hope you enjoy the chapter! Let me know what you think! 

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“You can’t be here!” Daryl barked as he rushed toward the spot where Ed was standing, talking to the police officer that had joined them early on in their journey from I-20 and had pushed between Daryl and Merle on the drive. “He can’t fuckin’ be here!” 

“Whoa! Whoa! Now wait a minute! Let’s just—everybody, wait a damn minute!” The police officer barked, putting his body between Daryl and Ed. 

Daryl felt Merle’s hand go to his shoulder and tug him backward.

“Easy brother,” Merle offered. “Officer’s wearin’ his piece an’ we all wired the fuck up.” 

The warning was simple enough. The Dixons didn’t always have the best relationships with the police, and it was better to read an officer before you ended up pistol-whipped or worse. 

Ed sneered at him from the other side of the dark-haired police officer, and his face, alone, made Daryl’s blood boil in his veins. He held himself back, though, not trying to make things difficult for anyone but Ed. He took a deep breath, focused on calming enough that the officer—whether he was of the Billy-Bad-Ass or the Barney Fife variety—wouldn’t find him threatening.

“He can’t be here,” Daryl said. “Gotta fuckin’ go.” 

“Where the hell am I gonna go?” Ed responded over the officer’s shoulder. The police officer turned his body so that he had a shoulder facing each of them, and he could see them better. He put a hand up in the direction of each of them, keeping plenty of distance between the two men.

“Let’s try this again. See—I’m Officer Shane Walsh from King County. Let’s start there.” 

Merle had let go of Daryl’s shoulder, and now he was standing shoulder to shoulder with him. 

“Merle Dixon,” Merle offered. He laughed to himself. “Of the East River Dixons. This is my brother, Daryl, and this our campsite. The whole damn lot of you followed our asses up here an’ he ain’t welcome.” 

Daryl was grateful that Merle, at least, had a clear head today. He was grateful that all of this hadn’t given him the time or opportunity to take anything that he was known to sneak from time to time. He could be impossible to deal with when he took shit. At least, at the moment, he was bound to be more help than hindrance—even if he still usually managed to rub many people the wrong way.

“Look—we got a damned restrainin’ order against him,” Daryl said. 

Ed laughed. 

“Looks like he’s the only law that’s here,” Ed said. “You gonna lock me up, Dixon?”

Daryl could tell that the officer’s greatest struggle, at the moment, was deciding which of them he liked least. 

“He nearly killed my wife,” Daryl said, doing his best to be as calm as he could. “More’n once. He had some damn nasty-ass ideas about my daughter that keep my ass awake at night.”

“You’re full of shit!” Ed barked back. “And that ain’t your daughter! She’s my kid!” 

“You got a wife an’ kid,” Daryl said, remembering that Shane had spilled out of the patrol car with his family. They were off somewhere, maybe even becoming acquainted with Carol and Sophia, near the water, at this moment. “You gotta know where the hell I’m comin’ from. He can’t fuckin’ stay here.” 

“If you’re so worried about it,” Ed offered, “why don’t you move the fuck on with that lyin’ ass cooze you shacked up with?” 

“This is our fuckin’ campsite!” Merle barked. Now it was Daryl who had to put his hand out to stop his brother. The officer, Shane, was probably a mix of Billy-Bad-Ass and Barney Fife, because his hand was on his gun as he took everything in, and he looked like just the kind of man who would like the excuse to break a nose or two to relieve a little of the current pressure and frustration. 

“It doesn’t look like the government would give a shit about that, even if you had a fuckin’ deed to the land,” Ed offered. 

“Then they ain’t gonna give a shit if I kill your ass!” Daryl barked back at Ed.

“Woah! Stop! Just fucking—just stop!” Shane barked, stepping a half step forward to be further between them, and holding them all at arms’ length. “We’re gonna talk about this and we’re going to work through it rationally, because I’m not having this kind of interaction where we’re going to be camping. Nobody’s killing anybody. Now—we don’t know what the hell is going on exactly, but we’re not descending into chaos.”

“You know, it ain’t your damn campsite, neither,” Merle offered. Other than frustration making his voice crack slightly, he came across as almost absolutely calm.

“And it isn’t yours,” Shane responded.

“Bullshit!” Merle barked. “I knew where this place was. I led the way up here. If it weren’t for me? Your ass would still be sittin’ out on I-20 with your fuckin’ thumb up your ass, waitin’ for them to vaporize you and your whole fuckin’ family. That badge mighta made your ass important in King County, but we ain’t there now.” 

“If you think I’m going to sit here and let any of you assholes fucking…”

Ed started talking, but he jumped a little too soon at the already edgy police officer. Shane Walsh had already had his hand on his gun for a while. He’d already been ready to react in some way. Ed had simply pushed too far at the moment when Shane’s ability to deal with a situation was just about to boil over.

The hard hit was enough to drop Ed to the ground, and to leave him writhing there for a moment as he worked to assure himself that the busted spot across his cheek wasn’t fatal and hadn’t broken anything vital.

“You just stay down there until I tell you to get up,” Shane warned. He looked in Daryl and Merle’s direction. “Can we talk about this without me having to lay every last one of you out?” 

Daryl held up his hands in mock surrender. Merle just stepped back a half a step, making a show to somewhat separate himself from the group, and lit a cigarette. From the ground, Ed loudly protested his mistreatment, but he stayed sitting on his ass in the dirt. 

Accepting that everyone was going to let things be discussed, Shane re-holstered his pistol, but he kept his hand resting on it like a Wild West cowboy waiting for a shootout in front of the saloon.

“I’m not going to listen to everybody yelling at me and everybody else. Now—after what we saw in Atlanta? This is a serious situation and tempers are a little high right now.”

“You in charge now?” Merle asked.

“Somebody’s got to be,” Shane barked back. Daryl saw his fingers flex. Merle was smart enough to know not to push it too far. “I have training in handling emergencies and managing crowds during times of crisis.” 

“By breaking their fucking faces?” Ed spat from the dirt.

Shane looked at him with a look of warning. Then, some amusement crossed his lips.

“Like you pointed out,” Shane said, “some of the rules seem to have changed. But I do what has to be done.” He looked at Daryl. “Now that we’re all calm, can you rationally explain to me what the problem is?” 

Daryl nodded his head. 

“We come here, with our families, to get away from what the hell is happenin’ down there,” Daryl said. 

“That’s why we’re all here,” Shane agreed.

“All y’all followed us,” Daryl pointed out.

Shane smiled to himself. 

“It’s public land,” he offered, “unless…you have a deed?” 

“I ain’t tryin’ to start shit,” Daryl said. Merle had meandered off some distance to oversee what was going on. He wasn’t going to start shit, either, unless it really needed to be started. “I’m just pointing out that nobody woulda been here if it weren’t us showin’ you where the hell this place is. You wanna organize shit or whatever—be my guest. We ain’t interested in managin’ this whole big ass group of people. Only thing we give a shit about is keepin’ our families alive.”

Shane’s hand slipped off his gun. He ran the hand through his hair. He nodded at Daryl. He was as relaxed, maybe, as a man like him ever really got. There were reasons that people went into the professions that they chose. Daryl had always believed that a certain kind of person became a police officer.

“That’s all any of us want,” Shane said. “To stay alive. We all stand a better chance of that if we’re cooperating. Working together and not against each other. We’re going to do a lot better if we keep the peace and work as a group—not as enemies.” 

“You won’t hear no argument from me on that,” Daryl said. He tried to make sure that his face conveyed his sincerity. “We ain’t lookin’ for a fight from no damn body. And we don’t give a shit about other people scratchin’ out a livin’ here together. Except for that asshole.” 

Daryl indicated Ed with his finger.

“You listen here,” Ed started, but Shane stopped him with his own finger pointing in Ed’s direction. 

“I don’t remember asking you for your side of the story just yet,” Shane pointed out. 

“This is police brutality,” Ed pointed out. 

Daryl didn’t stop himself from grimacing.

“Not breakin’ his damn head is just about takin’ all the hell I got right now,” Daryl warned Shane.

“Keep fighting it,” Shane informed him. “Because I’m not going to tolerate this bullshit from anyone.”

“That man is Ed Peletier,” Daryl said. “He moved outta East River about a year and a half ago when the whole damn town found out he damn near beat his woman to death and intended to fuck his little girl.” 

“That’s bullshit!” Ed barked. “Slander! You got no proof against me!” 

“The proof was you layin’ Carol up in the hospital!” Daryl barked. “And it weren’t even the first fuckin’ time!”

“She’s a stupid, lyin’ cunt,” Ed slurred. “That’s all the hell she is. All she’s ever been. She was fuckin’ this asshole behind my back. Instigated a fight with me and then made up a bunch of bullshit to slander my name.” 

“He’s full of shit,” Daryl said. “We got a restrainin’ order. They were in the process of decidin’ if he even had rights to my daughter. Judge was gonna revoke ‘em. His rights was up for involuntary termination because of long-term abuse and neglect, potential sexual abuse, and long-term alcohol and drug abuse.” 

“That’s bullshit,” Ed spat from the ground.

Daryl laughed to himself.

“You think my ass is smart enough to make that up? I wouldn’t even know what half that shit is if it weren’t for the fact we been studyin’ over it for months,” Daryl said. “Got a restrainin’ order against him for my wife an’ my daughter.”

“She’s my daughter,” Ed said. “And nothing—not one damn thing—has been proven beyond what that lyin’ ass whore has said.” 

Shane put his hand up in time to rest it firmly against Daryl’s chest as Daryl moved forward. 

“I’ve got no way of knowing what did or didn’t happen,” Shane said. “But…” he said quickly, interrupting Daryl as he made the first sounds of protest. “But…I’m going to err on the side of protecting the woman and child.” 

“You can’t just take his word!” Ed protested.

“I have to take somebody’s,” Shane said.

“It’s bullshit! I don’t get to even defend myself?” 

“You defended yourself when you said the lying whore made the story up,” Shane offered. “I’m going to take that defense into account.”

“And throw me out there alone?” Ed asked. “When I didn’t do a damned thing that anyone here can prove. He stole my fuckin’ wife. Slandered my name. Stole my kid and now you’re gonna let him try to get me killed?” 

“I never fuckin’ knew your wife until after you put her ass in the fuckin’ hospital the last fuckin’ time you done it!” Daryl protested.

“Stop it!” Shane barked. “Just stop it! Both of you! He’s right. Right now, we don’t know what’s going on. We’ve all heard the reports. We’ve seen the news. We know about the corpses and, now, we know about the bombs. I’m going to make this simple.” He pointed to Ed. “You keep your distance. You stay on one side of the damned camp. When you’re in communal spaces, you don’t talk to get near the woman or the child. Is that understood?” 

“She’s my daughter,” Ed protested.

“How about you ask her about that?” Daryl countered.

“You keep your distance or you leave the area,” Shane said. “That’s the only way you’re not being escorted out of camp.” 

“He’ll never keep to it,” Daryl protested.

“He’ll keep to it,” Shane said, “or he’ll get the hell out of this camp. Because if you violate the simple rules that I’ve laid out, I’m going to assume you’re guilty of everything he said.” 

“Fine,” Ed said to Shane. “Fuck you,” he tossed in Daryl’s direction. “And your whole white trash family.” 

Daryl looked at Shane. He couldn’t tell exactly what emotion the police officer was going through, but there was a good bit of annoyance or conflict on his features. 

“If things don’t change quick? After what we seen in Atlanta? Looks like the order we knew before is dead. If he gets any ideas? Any at all? And he touches my wife or daughter? I’ma kill him.” Daryl shook his head. “That ain’t no threat. It’s just a straight up promise. He touches ‘em? I’ma kill him—and I’ll take my damned chances on whether or not the world can ever come back from bombin’ the fuckin’ streets of Atlanta, and probably all them assholes stuck on I-20 by now, with fuckin’ aerosol bombs or napalm or whatever the fuck it was that they just used to kill half the population of Georgia. So, you wanna be in charge of things? Fine. You handle it.”

“I don’t like threats of violence, Daryl,” Shane warned.

“It ain’t a threat,” Daryl assured him. “It’s just information that you and him, both, oughta keep handy.”


	4. Chapter 4

AN: Here we are, another chapter here. This one is kind of the last one that really just sets things up. Of course, we have tons of people to meet and lots of experiences, but this one kind of finishes setting up the here and now. You can think of it as some of the final scenes where we’ve still got the opening credits running at the bottom of the screen. LOL

I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! 

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Daryl had purchased the two-bedroom tent the first time that Carol and Sophia had gone camping with him, Merle, and Andrea. They’d been to this very rock quarry, before, and they’d been to at least one other—though most of the areas where they went looked the same to Daryl, and it was often Merle that chose their campsites. As a surprise, as soon as Carol had accepted Daryl’s first invitation to go away with him and his family, Daryl had made the purchase of the tent and nice sleeping bags for Carol and Sophia.

Camping was something that Daryl and Merle really enjoyed. Andrea had learned to love it because of her love for Merle, though she hadn’t been a natural-born camper in the beginning. Daryl was excited to share his love of the wilderness with Carol, and he’d been excited when she and Sophia had really taken to the camping lifestyle. 

They’d intended to travel around and camp at a good number of places, since camping was a vacation that Dixons could afford when other types of vacations were a little too extravagant. Honestly, though, this wasn’t exactly what they’d had in mind when they’d made those plans. Still, Dixons were flexible people, and they were doing their part to keep things running.

Carol’s natural adaptability and fervor for taking care of people had come in handy throughout the day. She’d been an absolute asset to getting their large campsite up, running, and relatively comfortable for everyone there.

Daryl couldn’t remember half the names of the people who had followed them up there. Part of that was because he was terrible with names, and the other part was because the names didn’t really matter to him yet. He’d been focused on helping Merle and Shane get everyone ready to survive. The getting-to-know-you time could wait.

The first thing that they’d done was to go around and find out about tents and sleeping arrangements. There were some people who lacked tents, but there were some who had happened to bring extra because they had assumed that the safe spots in Atlanta might need some assistance putting everyone in shelters. People could sleep in cars, as well. There was also a man who had an RV, and he was more than happy to let anyone stay with him that had no roof over their heads.

They had added tents and sleeping bags to the top of their list of things they needed to acquire when they were able to venture out in search of things. It would never hurt to have a few extra on hand, once everyone was as spread out as they wanted to be, in case bad weather or other things damaged any of the shelter they currently had.

The second thing they’d done was discussed how to secure the area. The vehicles did a decent job of surrounding their campsite, but that wouldn’t be sufficient if there were any of the corpses—which they dubbed Walkers, following Daryl’s decision to refer to them as such—that managed to make it up there. They assumed that they wouldn’t have a great deal of company, thanks to the terrain, but Daryl and Merle had reasoned that they had no idea how many corpses might be left wandering around after the bombing of Atlanta. It was impossible for them to know, after all, how many people were sick with the virus or whatever it was that had caused this crisis in the first place. And, given the fact that the government had bombed Atlanta like they had, they were now certain that it was far more widespread that they’d even imagined in the beginning.

With the use of a decent amount of cord found in one of the trucks, and with the use of quite a few cans emptied into pots to contribute to the stew they’d all eat for dinner, they’d rigged up an elementary alarm system that any Tom and Jerry enthusiast could appreciate. It wasn’t much, but it would at least alert them to when something was crossing the barrier and nearing their camp. That would, if nothing else, buy them time to prepare to defend themselves.

With shelter and security covered, the next logical concern was food—especially given the fact that the inviting water of the two nearby quarries made it so that nobody was terribly concerned with water. Everyone had gathered together everything they had, as far as supplies went, and Carol had taken the job of categorizing and cataloguing what they had, in a notebook, so that she could figure out, realistically, how much they could all eat before the need for more provisions drove them out of their hiding place.

In addition to the boxes of food that people had brought when fleeing their homes, Daryl and Merle tossed out the information, to the group, that they could hunt pretty well, and the woods were teeming with wildlife. In addition, they were both pretty good at spotting edible plants, so they could gather what was around and available. Andrea and Amy, beyond that, possessed the skill of pretty much being able to catch a fish with every hook they’d ever dropped into the water, and the quarries were almost desperate for a little thinning of the fish population. 

Ed was the only person in the whole group who hadn’t contributed any food, swearing that he had nothing on him when he’d left, even though Carol had nonchalantly informed Daryl that Ed—the whole time they’d been married—had seen himself as something of an amateur survivalist that had been preparing for the end of the world for at least the past decade. 

Daryl told Shane that he suspected Ed was holding back on supplies and, then, when Ed refused Shane the right to search his vehicle, Shane had found himself agreeing with Daryl. Not only was Ed then banished to his far, solitary, corner of the camp, but they decided that he should be left out of the communal sharing of things unless he was able to contribute in some way. 

Daryl, personally, hoped that the man proved to be so absolutely useless that they forgot him on the far edge of the camp and that, finally, he simple wandered off of his own volition. Since he doubted that would happen, though, given that Ed was a natural-born leech, Daryl decided that he would settle for the man becoming something like a late-night bear snack.

Once the logistics of food and shelter were settled, they took inventory of tools and utensils. They collected together a list of their greatest wants and wishes, for whenever they should decide to venture away from the campsite, and then they’d divided into small groups to take care of the work that needed to be done to establish their camp.

Their protective barrier—although something straight out of any good cartoon—was erected. Merle left camp and, while still remaining within shouting distance, hunted up enough squirrels and rabbits that, skinned and cleaned, the whole camp was able to eat well. Carol prepared the meal in half the pots they had as a camp, and they boiled water in the other half of the pots to be sure that it was clean and ready to drink.

Before it got entirely dark, they chose a spot on the far edge of camp and got a latrine dug for everyone, and those that were familiar with erecting tents helped to get everyone settled in for the night.

It was a long and draining day, but there was something infinitely rewarding about knowing that, somehow, they’d managed to get this entire group of people—all strangers at the start—to pull together and set up a functioning camp that had the promise to carry them through the next couple of weeks, as they waited out whatever storm had started brewing when a virus led the United States’ government to bomb Atlanta and, presumably, other large urban hotspots throughout the country.

They had all been kept busy to the point that, when people were finally turning in for the night, most of them looked like they were crawling to their tents. They would sleep well and, if everything went off like they hoped it would, they would be equally as busy the next day as they kept the place running. 

Daryl felt strangely optimistic about the whole damned thing.

When it was getting late, Daryl had offered Sophia a hug and a kiss on the forehead goodnight, and then he’d sent her with Carol to get tucked into her special purple sleeping bag. After everyone had gone to their tents, cars, and other respective sleeping spots, Daryl walked a circle around the outside perimeter of the camp and relieved himself at one corner. He lit a cigarette and took in the brightness of the moon and the stars when there were no lights, anywhere, to dull their shine. 

The only lights, in fact, around them were those produced by camping lanterns that burned in the tents. The smoldering remains of their fires had already been kicked out, covered over, and doused with used bathwater that had been boiled up in the pots that would, without a doubt, get a great deal of use. 

Daryl made it a special point to walk out toward the edge of camp where Ed had been banished. The man was sleeping in his car, and the vehicle was dark. Daryl didn’t like knowing he was there, but there was very little that he could do. He had spoken his peace to Shane, but as long as Ed kept his distance, Daryl wasn’t justified in feeding him the bullet that he hoped Ed choked to death on. The same lack of governmental regulation that could keep Daryl from going to prison if he killed Ed right now, might very well see Daryl strung up from a tree somewhere if he decided to take things into his own hands before he had the support of the crowd that had now settled around them all. 

When Daryl was satisfied that Ed was asleep and all the fires were out, he made his way to his tent. 

Inside the tent, he found Carol sitting and, by the light of the camping lantern, working on some sewing.

“What’cha doin’?” Daryl asked.

“Sophia ripped her shirt today,” Carol said. “It’s her favorite one, and it isn’t like we can exactly run to the store right now.” 

“In all we packed, she’s gonna run outta clothes?” Daryl asked. 

“It’s her favorite,” Carol repeated.

“Can’t it wait until morning?” Daryl asked. “You gonna wreck your eyesight like that.” 

Carol sighed and moved to put away the shirt and the sewing kit in the corner of their tent. As she moved a few things around without much deliberate purpose, Daryl realized that she was simply doing things to keep herself busy and distracted. The busy day was enough to wear anybody out—but not everybody was dealing with everything that Carol had on her plate. 

Daryl crawled toward her, closing the gap between them. He reached out and caught the top of her arm to get her attention.

“Hey,” he said, tugging her gently. “Turn around a minute. Look at me.”

Carol did turn around, and Daryl caught the tears shining at her lower lids just before she brushed them away at the exact moment they landed on her cheeks. 

“You OK?” Daryl asked. Carol sniffed and nodded. Daryl rubbed his thumb over the upper part of her arm before he brought it up to rub at her face, wiping away the dampness. “I don’t want you to lie to me. You understand?” 

“Yeah,” Carol said, quietly, nodding her head.

“You OK?” Daryl repeated. Carol shook her head and Daryl pulled her forward, practically pulling her into his lap.

“What if he hurts her, Daryl?” Carol asked, keeping her voice just barely audible to Daryl as she breathed out the words. “Just to spite me?”

Daryl nodded his understanding. His chest ached. There was no concern for herself. There was no worry about what Ed might do to her if he were, somehow, able to get her alone. There was no concern for how he might try to punish her for imagined sins against him. Carol’s only worry was what Ed might do to Sophia. 

“Listen to me,” Daryl said, matching her volume so that Sophia wouldn’t hear them. “I need you to listen, OK? He ain’t gettin’ near her. OK? Just like today—like we never let her outta our sight? We’re gonna keep her in our sight like that. Between me, you, Andrea, Merle, and Amy? She don’t get outta everybody’s sight at once. Never. And he don’t get the chance to ever so much as look at her good. OK?” 

“OK,” Carol agreed, though Daryl knew that a mother’s fears couldn’t be quelled that easily. She was accepting his words, but she would still worry. He wasn’t going to try to remove all worry, because he knew it wasn’t possible. He only wanted to remove enough that she could sleep.

“She doin’ OK?” Daryl asked. 

Carol smiled to herself. She nodded her head. 

“Better than I thought she would,” Carol said. “She told me that—her Daddy would protect us.” 

Daryl smiled to himself, his chest aching, now, in a slightly different way than before. He touched Carol’s face and she leaned her cheek into his hand. 

“She ain’t wrong,” Daryl said. “If he wants to come after either one of you? He’s gotta go through my ass first.” 

“I just wish he wasn’t here,” Carol said. 

“I do, too,” Daryl assured her. 

“I—know it’s wrong to say, but I almost wish that…he’d just never made it away from I-20. Worse than that, I wish—he’d never made it out of the house that night. I just…wasn’t strong enough.” 

“OK, shhhh,” Daryl shushed, practically rocking Carol in his arms. “That’s enough of that. That’s enough of all that.” He pulled her toward the sleeping bags that she’d zipped together for them to share, and he ushered her inside, following right behind her. He blew out the lamp and pulled her to him, holding her in the dark. “He can’t bother us. He’s a coward. Always was one. And he ain’t gonna have the balls to do what he knows would cost him his sorry ass life, OK? But if he did? If he got stupid and he tried? We’d take care of him. And believe me, Carol, I know you—you’re plenty damn strong enough to take care of him, yourself, if you got to.” 

“I didn’t that night,” Carol said. “He left the house.” 

Daryl laughed to himself. 

“Only after he knocked you unconscious, and you give it to him good enough that he got the hell outta there in case you woke up again, I’m sure of it.” Daryl said. He kissed Carol’s face, identifying exactly where she was in the darkness, and then moved again to kiss her lips. “Don’t talk about it no more tonight. Just sleep. Know that there ain’t shit that he can do to us. Not any of us.”

“Daryl?” Carol offered quietly, before she squirmed a little tighter against him.

“Yeah?” He breathed out, fitting himself comfortably around her. 

“I love you,” Carol said.

“Love you, too, woman,” Daryl assured her. “More’n you got any fuckin’ idea. Close your eyes now. Time to sleep.”


	5. Chapter 5

AN: Here we are, another chapter here. 

I just want to say that there will be some kind of gritty parts to this story. We’ll have some kind of time jumps coming up, to advance the start of the story into other things (all explained), but all of this sets up group dynamics and character dynamics (I hope). There’s a lot of what we can simply expect from TWD, especially surrounding the Dixons (history of abuse, violence, drugs, etc.). I will also say that I do intend to soften season 1 Merle just a little because, even though I know he’s really quite racist, I’m not really comfortable writing it and I just don’t want to. So, I’m going to conveniently and purposefully just soften that aspect of Merle. I hope you understand. 

I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! 

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Daryl knew Andrea’s voice almost as well as he knew Carol’s. 

Whereas he’d spent time and effort committing Carol’s voice to memory—learning the different inflections she used—he’d learned Andrea’s voice from simply having called her family for so long.

Andrea’s blood family, including Amy, would have said that the biggest mistake that a young Andrea Harrison had ever committed was tying herself to an asshole, ten years her senior, that made her Andrea Dixon only after a pregnancy scare that turned out to be nothing more than a couple of positive pregnancy tests, and a couple weeks of worry, followed by a heavy period that might have gotten Merle off the proverbial hook if it had come three weeks earlier.

Although Daryl hated that Andrea’s family had never thought more highly of is own family, Daryl couldn’t exactly swear that they were wrong. Andrea had done well for herself, as Andrea Dixon, but that didn’t mean she might not have gone further if she hadn’t been tied to Merle. 

Andrea had married Merle in the summer after her first year of undergraduate college. That was when her parents told her they loved her, but they wouldn’t support her bad decisions. They’d pulled any and all financial support and sat back, arms crossed, almost waiting to see her fail. Daryl knew that Andrea loved her parents, and even now she must be grieving their loss, even if the world hadn’t allowed her such luxury, but he didn’t suffer at their loss, and he’d never wholly forgive them for their treatment of Andrea. 

Andrea had pretended like it didn’t bother her, though, and she hadn’t let it stop her. She’d finished school, gotten her law degree, and managed to get a job at one of two small law firms that East River had to offer. She made decent money, and she’d earned some prestige for herself, despite the fact that some people around town were always going to look down on her because they had a dislike for anyone that carried the last name Dixon. 

She’d also always stood by Merle, whether or not the asshole always deserved her support. She understood where Merle and Daryl had come from and, more than that, she simply loved Merle. 

If Merle Dixon couldn’t say he had shit else in life, he had the love of one woman—and that had led to Daryl and him locking horns a few times over his treatment of that woman.

Daryl could have turned to artificial comfort as much as Merle had. It was in his blood and, often enough, he’d heard that was one of the main things that mattered when it came to determining if someone was addicted to some chemical form of getting the hell out of their own head. Daryl had an addictive personality, and he knew it. He was addicted to cigarettes—the lesser of evils, he reasoned. And he was addicted to Carol—an indulgence he’d chosen to allow himself since she’d come into his life. He’d purposefully avoided anything harder than liquor and weed, and he only enjoyed those things with very careful monitoring and mindfulness. 

Merle, on the other, like his father before him and his father before that, had allowed himself to dabble in just about every substance that promised to provide peace and happiness—never fully accepting that there was just always going to be shit, deep inside all of them, that was just going to be there. It would never go away, no matter how hard they tried to drown it, smoke it out, or bury it under mountains of snortable and otherwise consumable drugs.

Daryl didn’t know if it was typical of most addicts, but Merle Dixon didn’t want to be an addict. He wanted to be sober. He wanted to be the Ward Cleaver kind of guy next door that always did right by his wife, his kids, and the whole damn world. And every time he got on the wagon—every time they all joined forces, and gathered their strength and their resources, and hoisted his heavy ass up on the wagon—he swore he was there for good. He had a good grip. He would stay on, this time. And every time he said it, they wanted to believe it—no one more than Daryl and Andrea. 

Since Andrea had come into the picture, they’d both been there to catch him every time it had all just gotten too heavy again and, crashing down on top of him, it had toppled Merle right off the wagon again. 

They didn’t make excuses for him—not really—but they still loved him while they gathered up the pieces of Merle that seemed to get broken in every fall and started the whole process over again.

Daryl thought there was a certain quality to Andrea’s voice when she cried out with the desperation of a woman trying to gather together all the broken pieces of the man she loved while, simultaneously, being eternally furious that she may never simply be enough for him—she may never simply be enough to quiet the demons. Daryl didn’t excuse it, of course, but he understood it. Andrea had to sleep sometimes. She had to work. She had to leave Merle to do the things that life required if she was going to keep the bills paid when he sometimes failed to do that. The demons didn’t have quite so many requirements, so they never left him.

“Stop it! Stop it! Right now! Merle! You son of a bitch!” Andrea cried out. 

As soon as it registered for Daryl what he was hearing, and who he was hearing it from, it snatched him out of his slumber. Beside him, resting with her head on his arm so that he couldn’t feel the blood pumping there anymore, Carol slept. In the little separate area of their tent, Sophia would still be sleeping as well.

The light around them suggested that it was dawn. Early dawn. 

Daryl scrambled up, quickly, as the urgency of Andrea’s voice, and the slowly perceptible din of other voices, made it clear that his assistance might be needed, and the faster the better. Daryl worked his way into his pants as Carol stirred and came into herself, scrubbing at her eyes with her hands.

“What’s happening?” She asked, jerking awake as her ears started to take in what they were hearing. She immediately sat up and reached for her own clothes.

“Don’t know,” Daryl said. “But it ain’t fuckin’ good. I know that much.” 

“What do you want me to do?” Carol asked. “What’s best?” 

“Without seein’ it, I don’t know,” Daryl said. “Tell Soph to stay in here. Maybe—try to come get Andrea?”

“What about Amy?” Carol asked.

“She ain’t never been no good at comforting Andrea,” Daryl commented, tying his boots at what he was sure was pretty much the fastest speed at which he’d ever accomplished such a task. He didn’t wait to see Carol get her clothes on or tell Sophia to stay inside the tent. He got out of the tent as quickly as he could and took in the scene around him.

Andrea was soggy with tears, red in the face, and doing the desperate kind of screaming cry that would leave her throat raw and eventually lead her to lose her voice. Amy was wrestling her sister, and was one step away from riding Andrea around the camp like a pony. 

The other high-pitched screaming came from the police officer’s wife who was wringing her hands and walking wide circles around the spot on the ground where Merle and Shane—the police officer who had elected himself leader of their group—were rolling around fighting each other. It was difficult to say which of them had the upper hand, and it was clear that, though they were gaining spectators, nobody was really jumping in to swing the fight in one direction or another. 

Daryl practically took a deep breath like preparing to jump into a pool and selected the best moment to get his hands on the upper-most man in the tangle. It happened to be Shane, but it didn’t matter. All he intended to do was shake them apart and, once the tangle was undone, try to help sort out the problem.

Breaking them up was easier than expected, but Shane swung on Daryl the moment he gained his feet, twisting his body like a cat. Daryl held tight to him, ducked his punch, and walked him backward in an attempt to somehow figure out how to end the fight without having to engage in an actual fight. Daryl was no stranger to fights, of course, but that didn’t mean that he always preferred them, if they could be avoided, and especially not first thing in the morning. 

“Son of a bitch! I ain’t fightin’ your ass! Break this shit up!” Daryl growled through gritted teeth.

Finally getting words out, and putting some actual physical distance between Shane and Merle, seemed to do something to get the police officer out of the state of seeing red that he’d fallen into during the fight. 

“What the hell is goin’ on here?” Daryl asked, panting to himself with exertion, when he felt it was finally safe to let Shane go.

Merle, for his part, had found his feet, and the one black man in their group—whose name Daryl couldn’t remember because it was some sort of chosen moniker that had been a little ridiculous to him and he hadn’t take the time to remember it—was somewhat doing his best to be a body-block between Merle and Shane.

In less than a minute, Daryl could see his brother was on something. There was just something different about the way that Merle carried himself when he was strung out—and Daryl had been seeing that Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde juxtaposition of his brother’s personalities for a long time.

“I’m not allowing chaos!” Shane barked, his residual anger coming through in his tone.

“Try to fuckin’ find some fuckin’ order!” Merle yelled back. “Fuckin’ good fuckin’ sense! You invitin’ fuckin’ chaos you stupid fuck!” 

He lunged forward and the black man stepped between them again, hands up, and did his best to try to soothe Merle with an offering of “Hey man, it’s all right. It’s good. Everything’s good. Look at your woman over there. You see what you’re doin’ to her? Just ease up, man. Nothin’s happenin’.” 

Daryl reminded himself to thank the man later and to be bothered with learning his name. This clearly wasn’t his first time dealing with someone who was high enough to have probably been considered a person of interest by NASA. At any rate, Daryl was sure that his calm demeanor would have its limits if he had to deal with Merle too long.

“What the hell is going on?” Daryl asked. 

“Your brother is outta his skull,” Shane growled, backing off of Daryl and running his hand through his hair. His pacing in the small plot of land put him almost on the same level of frustration as Merle, though Daryl was pretty sure the officer was clean. “Thought it was a bear out here. Came out to find him knocking around. Said he was looking for a shovel to bury Ed.” 

Daryl felt like he’d been splashed with ice water. He didn’t know if he was hopeful that Merle had killed Ed or that he hadn’t. 

“You kill him?” Daryl asked, tossing the question in Merle’s direction.

“Asshole jumped me before I could find the shovel,” Merle said. “I was going to be at his sorry ass to death and bury him in the hole. Bullet’s too damn good for what he deserves. If you were half a man, little brother, you’da done killed his ass by now. Made him choke to death on his own fuckin’ dick. Insteada kissin’ ass up to these—pansy-ass, city-fied fuckin’ do-gooders and pedophile-lovers.” He shoved off the man that was trying to calm him. “Get the fuck off me you fuckin’ fuck!” He shook the man off and went storming off. 

Andrea did her best to go after him, screaming out his name in a voice that was going hoarse, but Carol and Amy both held her back and reminded her that the best thing to do was to let him have his space.

“He’s dangerous,” Shane said. “Out of his mind on something.” 

“You right about one thing,” Daryl said. “He’s outta his mind on somethin’. And we’re gonna do our best to figure out—what it is and…and where it is. We’re gonna try to get it outta camp. We don’t want him to have it no more’n you do. But the thing you fuckin’ wrong about is that he ain’t dangerous. At least, he ain’t dangerous to nobody that don’t deserve it. Listen—I know my brother. Even outta his head. In fact, I might know him better outta his head than in it. Give him a wide berth an’ he don’t hurt nobody that don’t just demand it. His ass would rather walk away, ten times outta ten, if you give him the space to do it.” 

“You wanna say that he isn’t dangerous when he was going to beat Ed to death with a shovel? The man is still sleeping. You want to sit here and tell me that—that man is sleeping, and he’s demanding that your brother attack him?” 

Daryl laughed to himself. 

“Listen, Ed’s been demandin’ it for a long damn time,” Daryl said. “From what I hear—and from what I know? The shit he’s done? The shit he’s threatened to do? He damn well ought to be scared of prison ‘cause they’d kill him in there, too. I won’t defend my brother’s drug habit, and I already told you that me an’ his woman’s gonna do what we can to find whatever the hell he took and get it outta here. But if he beats Ed Peletier to death with a shovel? The only damn thing I can say is Ed had it comin’.” 

“This group will descent into chaos if we start killing each other,” Shane said. 

Daryl shrugged his shoulders. 

“Then we gonna do good to make sure we only limit the killin’ to them that most deserve it,” Daryl said. “Let’s see about breakfast. Then Andrea an’ me will find the drugs. Merle oughta be about ready to come down a little after he eats somethin’.”


	6. Chapter 6

AN: Here we are, another chapter here. 

I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! 

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“Some kinda crystal,” Daryl said with a sigh as he walked over to where Carol was working, washing up the dishes they’d all used during breakfast to be able to serve lunch in a while. He put his hands on her shoulders, physically announcing his presence, in case his words and the loud sounds of his boots crunching on the sand covered rock didn’t give his approach away. 

He made it a point never to purposefully sneak up on Carol, and he was careful not to even do it accidentally. 

Despite the fact he was talking about the drugs that he and Andrea had found by tearing her tent apart and rummaging through the belongings that she and Merle had packed, Carol smiled to herself. She smiled because she felt the strength in Daryl’s fingertips as they curled around the top part of her arms, moving down from her shoulders. She smiled because it was a protective hold. It was meant to keep her grounded and, in the case that she might react with what someone might call an overdramatic, startled jump, it was to keep her from accidentally tumbling down into the water from her leaning position. 

Carol shook the last dish she had rinsed, added it to the rinsed pile, and straightened up. The others could wait for a moment. Daryl’s hold on her, during the process, shifted to one of assistance, and he helped her up as she came out of the long-held position and stretched her back. As soon as she was standing straight, with his hands still on her and doing something like the gentle kneading of a cat while they worked her muscles, Daryl leaned against her back and kissed her neck and cheek. 

“I’m sweaty,” Carol warned, though he probably already knew. 

“Dewy,” Daryl teased. “Like a Cherokee Rose in the morning.” 

Carol smiled to herself at the silly little compliment. One of the first things that Daryl told her, when he gave her the laundry list of reasons that he was a horrible person and she should never deign to have coffee with him again, was that he wasn’t very good with words. Carol disagreed with him entirely. He might not be good with words in the way that he thought she wanted him to be good with them—or in the way that some people expected – but Carol thought he was usually just about perfect in his use of them. 

It had really been the sincere, and very nervous, way in which Daryl had listed out his imperfections, for Carol, that had guaranteed that she’d had coffee with him again—and lunch, and dinner, and that she’d let him meet her daughter and take them both out to a movie of Sophia’s choosing. Ed had never admitted to being anything less than perfect, even though Carol was more than capable of pointing out a great number of very serious faults that the man had. Daryl had come to Carol confessing every fault he had, for her to see, so that she could make an educated decision about whether or not she wished to spend a great deal of time in his presence.

Carol hoped to spend the rest of her life in his presence. She imagined drawing her last breath— which, in her dreams, was peaceful and brought about by old age—cradled in his arms. She was sure that there would be no better way to leave the world unless, of course, he could somehow come with her, their hands never having to be pulled apart. 

Daryl Dixon was no angel. He had not lied to her. He was a man with faults. He wasn’t perfect at all. But Carol wasn’t seeking perfection. She never had been. And, so far, she couldn’t say that Daryl had a single fault that she couldn’t tolerate. 

“So—meth or…?” Carol asked. Daryl shrugged. “I ain’t never seen this shit before. Andrea either. He got it somewhere new, before all this went down. It ain’t his usual shit. He ain’t been on it, though, so he musta just been holdin’ onto it.” 

Carol nodded. Her concern, at the moment, was more for her husband and her sister-in-law than it was for Merle. Merle was, to some degree, a victim of his circumstances. He’d had a terrible life—really horrid—and he’d made it even worse for himself, once Daryl had been born, because that was the only way he had to protect the baby brother who, being ten years younger than him, Merle had always felt was his responsibility. 

But Merle was also at least somewhat responsible for some of the piss poor choices that he made in life. 

“Where was it?” Carol asked.

“In the tent,” Daryl said. “In the asshole’s pillow. Fuckin’ premeditated, if you ask me. Holdin’ onto it in case he needed what the hell he’d call a little mental vacation.” 

“He was doing so well,” Carol lamented. 

Merle’s last trip to rehab had lasted only the minimum thirty days. He knew all the right answers at this point. He knew how the system worked. He’d been in rehab enough that he could get through all their interviews and conversations like someone hitting every note of their lifelong favorite song. 

This time, though, Merle had been clean for almost three months since he left rehab. 

“Well, he fell off the fuckin’ wagon last night,” Daryl said. “Found some paraphernalia and shit in his saddle bags. Figure he snuck out the tent once Andrea was asleep. For all the fuck we know, he coulda been up all night gettin’ wasted on this shit. Whatever the hell it is.” 

“He was bad this morning,” Carol said. “But he wasn’t—that bad.” 

Daryl laughed to himself.

“I know what you mean,” he ceded. “Whatever this shit is, it ain’t the worst I’ve ever seen him. Still, we ain’t got time or energy for this shit. We got bigger things to worry about—and fuckin’ Merle knows that. We gonna be fine, and we gonna get through this, but this ain’t the fuckin’ time to be takin’ some mystery shit.” 

“Maybe that’s what pushed him over the edge,” Carol offered. “I’m not making excuses,” she said quickly, when Daryl furrowed his brow in irritation. “I’m just saying—he’s been under a lot of pressure. He liked that job he had for a couple months, and he lost it.” 

Daryl hummed.

“And for once, that weren’t Merle’s fault,” Daryl mused. “Then there’s the whole kid thing. He was really startin’ to look forward to Andrea’s whole thing about—you get clean, Merle, and we’ll have us a real family. The real deal. Hell—that mighta kept him clean. Mighta been enough to hold onto.” 

Now it was Carol’s turn to frown at Daryl.

“Because Andrea’s not enough,” Carol said, “and shouldn’t expect to be enough for her husband?” 

Daryl laughed, somewhat nervously to himself. He reached out and pulled Carol to him, hugging her against his chest. 

“Easy,” he said. “That weren’t what I meant at all. You know I’ve run Merle all over East River just to try to get it into his fuckin’ thick skull that Andrea oughta be what the hell he fights for every damn day of his sorry ass life. I only meant that, maybe somethin’ else woulda been enough to get him to open his eyes and realize that he’s got more now than whatever voice he’s listenin’ to is tellin’ him he’s got.” Daryl sighed when he released Carol. He shrugged his shoulders. “He was just kinda excited, that’s all. I think—he’s been bummed that it ain’t gonna happen.” 

Carol laughed to herself. 

“So he’s been saying,” Carol said. “But, Daryl, their agreement was he had to come out of rehab and swear—swear—that he was going to stay clean. That was what Andrea wanted before she was going to try to have a baby with him. And I don’t blame her.” 

“I never said I blamed her,” Daryl said. “Don’t put words in my mouth. I get that’s why there ain’t been one before. I get that—supportin’ the both of ‘em more often than she ain’t, and…spending half her damn life lookin’ for where Merle mighta fell out, too damn drugged to get home, and haulin’ him back to the couch and back to rehab,” he let the sentence trail off. He growled to himself. “Fuck—I get it all. That ain’t no kinda life to up and insert a kid.”

“A child she’d be wholly responsible for when his Daddy fell right off the wagon again,” Carol said. “And then she’s stuck raising a child that’s just supposed to accept that Daddy’s an addict that—that means well, but can’t be counted on.” 

“You’re right,” Daryl offered.

“But that’s not even my point,” Carol said. “My point is that—Andrea said he had to get through rehab and promise. He promised. She went off birth control three months ago, Daryl. She’s not a vending machine. It’s not instant gratification. Merle can’t expect to just—put in a proverbial dollar and get a Baby Ruth and some change a few seconds later.” Daryl snorted, swallowing down his laugher, but he waved at Carol to continue. “You and I haven’t been using anything for longer than that. That’s no time to try for a baby. And Merle’s been moping around for almost a month saying that it’s not going to happen. Besides the fact that that kind of negativity messes with his head, it messes with Andrea. And that doesn’t put her in the right place to conceive either.”

“So he’s created his own misery,” Daryl said. He laughed to himself. “I mean—I agree with you. What the hell else is new? Don’t you get me wrong, we lived in fuckin’ hell…hell, Carol.” 

“I know you did,” Carol said. She glanced around them. Nobody was paying them any attention. Nobody seemed to care at all about them. She’d chosen this spot because it was the closest to the shaded wooded area where the children were all doing made-up homework under the supervision of the cop’s girlfriend—a woman who informed Carol that she was recently widowed, and it wasn’t like that, but it surely looked like that. 

Carol could see Sophia from here, and it was easy to keep an eye on her while she worked, but they really weren’t the object of attention for anyone around them. 

“I know you went through hell,” Carol said. “You both did.” 

“That ain’t really my point,” Daryl said. “My point is—Merle’s been outta that house a long damn time. But he’s been off and on miserable his whole fuckin’ life. Self-medicatin’ with the damned drugs.”

“That’s addiction and—mental illness,” Carol said. She raised her eyebrows at Daryl. “We’re Dixons, we know about that.” 

Daryl laughed to himself, and Carol laughed, too, low in her chest. Life wasn’t always beautiful, but they were all doing their best to make the most of it. The truth of the matter was, though, that no matter how much complication came with “being a Dixon,” Carol was still a thousand times happier and much better off than she’d been before. She could handle everything that came with being Carol Dixon.

“May be,” Daryl ceded. “But it’s also fuckin’ creatin’ his own misery. Fuck—if I woke up every day and wanted to wallow in the fuckin’ dirt about how miserable I am, I’m sure I could dig some shit up to wallow in if I looked hard enough.” 

“But you don’t,” Carol offered.

Daryl sighed. He reached in his pocket, produced a cigarette, and lit it, before he returned the pack and lighter to his pocket.

“But I fuckin’ used to,” Daryl growled after a moment. “I did. I fuckin’ used to be miserable every damned minute my eyes was open.” 

Carol shook her head at him.

“Don’t tell me it was me that changed your way of seeing things,” Carol offered. “You never let me see that side of you.” 

“It weren’t you,” Daryl said. “At least—it weren’t like you made me change nothin’. It was knowin’ you, though, that made me think that maybe I don’t wanna live my whole fuckin’ life just sittin’ in shit and choosin’ to be miserable. Maybe there’s still a chance to turn shit around. Have every damn thing I could want and more. That much is you. You didn’t make me change my life. I done that shit on my own. But you made me think—maybe it was worth changin’.” 

Carol smiled to herself. The words tugged at her chest. Daryl would tell her he was no good with words, but he hadn’t ever been right about that. 

“I think Merle wants to do that,” Carol said. “He wants to turn it all around. He loves Andrea. He really does.” 

“But he loves the drugs more,” Daryl said with a frown. “He’s always loved the drugs more’n he’s loved any of us.” 

Carol shook her head. She brought her hand up and touched Daryl’s cheek. She smiled at the way that his eyelids fluttered, for a brief second, as he fought against the desire to close them to enjoy her touch even more. 

“No,” Carol said. “That’s not true. Merle has never loved the drugs. He hates the drugs. They won’t let him go, though. And, so far, he’s not strong enough to break away. But he’s going to get help, now, that’s going to be a lot more in-depth than the help he’s gotten before. Because there aren’t any dealers out here.” 

Daryl gnawed at a piece of dried skin near the cuticle of his thumb, and nodded his head as he spit the freed piece of skin into the air. 

“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah—he’s gonna come clean out here and…he’s gonna stay clean.” 

“That’s what he’s wanted,” Carol said. 

“We just gotta keep him from gettin’ his hands on shit,” Daryl said. “It was all of this—all of it—that pushed him over the edge. I ain’t makin’ excuses, but…”

Carol nodded her head at the line that was used enough, among all of them, to practically be a Dixon family anthem for discussing Merle’s lapses in judgment. 

“Seeing Andrea hurting was enough to do it, alone,” Carol said. “After what happened yesterday. He didn’t like the Harrisons, especially not after how they treated Andrea, but he loves Andrea.” 

Daryl laughed to himself. 

“Then we all watch the whole fuckin’ city of Atlanta—at least half the population of Georgia if they bombed the road, too—just get obliterated,” Daryl mused. “You know we’re talkin’ about when it’s safe to go back, but there’s no goin’ back from this shit, Carol. I mean—we might go back to something, but there’s no forgettin’ what the hell happened. Damn—it’s probably got most of us wishin’ for a little comfort.” 

“Control,” Carol said. “Merle’s always turned to drugs when he felt out of control about something. The drugs were the one thing he could control. Seeing you get upset about Ed, that jumped on him, too.”

“Don’t play like it weren’t you, too, and Sophia he’s worried about.” Daryl sucked in a breath and sighed. “Maybe he’s right. Maybe I’m a chicken shit for not killin’ Ed. Tell me what’cha want me to do. About Ed.” 

Carol’s stomach clenched. She wanted Ed gone from the world. There had been times, when he’d been especially cruel, that she’d considered killing him herself. She’d stood over the bed, more than once, and imagined how easy it would be. Her only concern—and really the only thing that had kept her from doing it, sometimes—was what would happen to Sophia when Carol went to prison for murder. After all, she wasn’t under any impression that the courts wouldn’t rule in favor of Ed—a poor man murdered, in his sleep, by his apparently cold-blooded wife—over the battered wife who should have simply left it was really that bad.

She’d meant to kill him, honestly, the night that he’d seemed so determined to act on his sick thoughts about Sophia. The only reason she hadn’t was because, when it came down to hand-to-hand combat, without weapons or the element of surprise, Ed simply overpowered Carol—and he always would. 

For as much as Carol wanted Ed gone, though, she knew that everyone was not quite ready to handle that. Everyone was stressed. The things that had pushed Merle over the edge, and into the comfortable haze created by drugs, also had everyone else on edge. If anyone killed Ed, it was possible that things would not go well because people wouldn’t know how to react. And, really, it always seemed like people never changed very much—and they’d still be likely to have more sympathy for Ed than they’d ever have for Carol, or any of the Dixons, for what they’d suffered at the hands of assholes like Ed. 

“Right now? I want you to forget about Ed. Ed’s not a concern right now.”

“I can see his ass on the edge of camp,” Daryl said, nodding his head in that direction.

“I can, too,” Carol assured him. “But he’s not crossing the line that Shane drew for him. And until he does, I don’t want anyone doing anything that’s going to give anyone else a chance to act against any of us. I may not like being in the same camp as him, and I might keep Sophia within my sight at all times, but—I don’t want anyone doing something that might make me lose my family in retaliation. You worry about Merle. Leave Ed.” 

“I hate knowin’ he’s—hoverin’ over you,” Daryl said. “Even if it is from the fuckin’ edge of camp.” 

Carol laughed to herself. 

“Even if he’s not here, he’s hovering,” Carol offered. “The same as your father.” 

Daryl sighed, but he nodded.

“Did you get rid of the drugs?” Carol asked.

“Not exactly,” Daryl said. “Can’t burn ‘em ‘cause I don’t know what kinda hell that’ll cause. If I go out in the woods an’ bury ‘em, Merle’ll track me. If I double back enough times and clean up after myself, he won’t be able to track me, but that leaves me outta the camp for a while and y’all here without nobody but fuckin’ outta his skull Merle on your side.”

“So, what’d you do?” Carol asked.

“Give ‘em to Shane,” Daryl said. “He’s gonna hold ‘em safe for a bit. Where Merle won’t know to find ‘em. Then he’s gonna take ‘em out, without any kind of announcement, and in secret, and he’s gonna bury ‘em somewhere. It’s all the hell we can think to do.” 

“Fine,” Carol said.

“That’s all you can say?” Daryl said, laughing to himself. “Fine—like that? Like puttin’ the end on it?” 

“I am putting the end on it,” Carol said. “As far as we know, the drugs are gone. We’ll hope—there’s no more hidden somewhere and he doesn’t find those again. But that’s it. Like you always tell me, we’re not crabs and we don’t go backward. So—go find Merle. Talk him down as much as you can. But starting today? Merle’s got the best chance of being clean he’s ever had. I’m going to talk to Andrea, because she needs me, and then we’re going to start figuring out some kind of chore chart, or schedule, or something for this group. Like you said, we’ll never see our old normal again. So, until we know what we’re going back to…or, even if there’s anything to go back to? It’s time to establish a new normal.” 

Daryl smiled at her. It was the kind of smile where the corner of his mouth just turned up. It always made a jolt of electricity run through her body.

“I like it when you’re bossy like that,” Daryl offered.

Carol laughed to herself.

“Go take care of your brother,” Carol said, “or you haven’t even seen bossy.” 

Daryl’s smirk only grew. 

“Yes ma’am,” he said, leaning in for a kiss. Carol granted him the kiss. She made sure that he knew that she meant it. She savored it as much as he did. 

“Get!” She commanded, laughing to herself, as she playfully swatted him upon breaking the kiss.


	7. Chapter 7

AN: Here we are, another chapter here.

I just wanted to throw this out for anyone who might need a reminder, but this is not going to go exactly with the story on television. There are going to be some similarities and story lines, but there are going to be a lot of differences, too. 

I hope you enjoy the chapter! Let me know what you think! 

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“The fuck you doin’ out here, Merle?” Daryl asked. 

It was almost immediately possible to figure out the come-down state of his brother. No matter what he was on, and no matter how he acted when he was high, Merle usually had two moods when he was coming down. As far as Daryl could tell, it was Russian roulette, essentially, when it came to Merle’s coming down mood. He was either going to be extra combative and unruly until he just passed out somewhere—the absolute worst mood for any of them to deal with—or he was going to turn into an apologetic sack of sorrow that was simply remorseful for everything he’d ever done or failed to do in his whole sorry ass life. 

Sitting on his ass, elbow on his knee, smoking a cigarette and lamenting to the grass, or God, or whoever he imagined was talking to him, about how “she” was absolutely going to leave him, and he deserved it for being a fuckup, Merle gave away, immediately, the mood that had overtaken him this time.

“I don’t want her to leave me,” Merle lamented when he noticed Daryl’s approach. It hadn’t been hard to track him this far. Besides that, it had always been one of Merle’s favorite spots when they camped here.

Daryl dropped down beside his brother and lit a cigarette.

“She ain’t gonna leave you, asshole,” Daryl said. “Look around. Where the hell would she go?” 

“When we go back, Daryl…” Merle said.

“You an’ me know we ain’t goin’ back,” Daryl mused. “Unless you too fucked up to know that. In which case you gonna remember it when you come down off this fuckin’ mess you made for yourself.” 

“She’s so fuckin’ sad,” Merle said. 

“Her parents just died, Merle. Both of ‘em,” Daryl said. “In a bad fuckin’ way, too. And we both know she’s been holdin’ out for years—sure they was gonna come out an’ say they was proud of her. That she ain’t fucked up her whole damn life. That she was just as good a kid as Amy. They never said none of that, though. Not to Andrea. Left her with a great big fuck you. I reckon she’s gonna want to lick them wounds a couple days. Fuck—look at you an’ me? Still lickin’ wounds over an’ old man that didn’t never give a damn.” Daryl took a long draw off his cigarette and blew the smoke out with a grunt. “Worse than that—if she weren’t heartbroken enough, her fuckin’ husband went and got blitzed when she needed him to do nice shit like just fuckin’ hold her, instead.” 

“I promised her I was done,” Merle complained.

“Yeah, that ain’t the first time Andrea’s heard that,” Daryl said. “Still—might be a good thing to mean it one of these damn days, Merle. I don’t wanna comfort her ass over becomin’ some kinda widow because of some stupid, fuckin’ drugs, Merle. And that’s where your ass is headin’. You know that.” 

“I love her,” Merle offered.

“Don’t tell me that,” Daryl said. “And don’t tell her that. It’s about fuckin’ time you showed her, Merle. And you don’t let up on showin’ her, neither.” 

“I don’t know why the hell I do the things I do, lil’ brother,” Merle lamented. 

Daryl’s chest ached. He nodded his head. He took quick, consecutive draws on his cigarette and finished the thing in record time. It was nice to be able, for a second, to blame his constricted breathing on something besides his brother.

“I know you don’t,” Daryl said, leaving off the fact that he often felt that he did know why Merle did what he did—and he knew that the main reason, perhaps, that Merle acted like he did was because he had taken the brunt of so much of the old man’s anger and their mother’s hurt. He’d taken the brunt of it for a long damn time, as long as he could stand, and then he’d been overwhelmed with grief when he’d realized that he’d run out, to save himself, and everything he’d worried would come to pass to Daryl had come to pass. Then he’d taken on being a parent to Daryl before he knew how to even really take care of himself.

On the outside, Merle presented himself as somebody who didn’t give a damn about anything or anyone. On the inside, Daryl knew the problem was that Merle really cared too damn much and had never learned how to express that in a healthy and acceptable manner. 

Daryl didn’t say all of that, though. Instead, he simply sighed and scrubbed his spent cigarette butt out on the ground between them.

“I know you don’t, brother,” Daryl offered. “We found your stash. Got rid of it. It’s gone, you hear me? Gone.” 

“Good,” Merle said. “I hate it.”

“I know you do,” Daryl said. 

“I really fucked up,” Merle said. 

“You were only gonna kill Ed, this time,” Daryl said. “And in the grand scheme of things, it wouldn’t be the worst thing that could happen.” 

“I mean with Andrea,” Merle said. “She’s so damn sad. And I just—made her sadder.” Daryl heard the slightly pained noise from his brother. “I don’t want her to fuckin’ leave me.” 

“She ain’t gonna leave, Merle,” Daryl assured him. “Not even if she had somewhere to go.” 

“I was gonna do right by her,” Merle said. “Just like you with your Mouse. I was gonna fuckin’—I was gonna do right by her. Fuckin’ hold down a job. Be a regular ass kisser to the man, Daryl. Nine to five every fuckin’ day. Be a provider.” Daryl didn’t point out to Merle that Andrea hardly needed anyone to provide for her. He let Merle go. “Be a father. Two. Three little Dixons. I said all boys, but…fuck…I wouldn’ta hated no lil’ thing like Sophia. Fuck, brother. I was gonna do it right.” 

“You still can, brother,” Daryl said. “I don’t know about holdin’ down a job, but we could use your ass around here. Them people? They all able-bodied. Most of ‘em seem willin’ to work. They need direction, though. Don’t know what the hell to do. Don’t know how to survive if this don’t go back to what it was—and we know it don’t. You can give ‘em that, brother. If you don’t know shit else, you know what the fuck we need to do live out here forever. So maybe you don’t kiss the man’s ass and work nine to five, but you can provide for Andrea like you ain’t never been able to before. Fuck—we’ll build us a whole damn life out here. Whole nine yards. This is when the Dixons take over the world, right?” 

Merle laughed to himself, and Daryl laughed too. 

“What the hell about that asshole, Ed, brother?” Merle asked. He was clearly starting to level out a little more. He lit another cigarette for himself, and Daryl could see that his hands were shaking. Normally that might be a bad sign for most people, but it was typically a good sign for Merle. It meant that whatever the hell he’d taken was working its way out of his system.

“He’s either gonna leave ‘cause he hates bein’ on the outside where don’t nobody do what the hell he wants ‘em to do, or he’s gonna fuck up an’ step the hell over that line,” Daryl said. “When he puts a toe over that line—I don’t care if it’s to get the fuck away from a rattlesnake about to bite him in his sorry ass—I’ma put a a bolt through his head an’ we gonna throw his sorry ass carcass out here to feed the fat ass buzzards.” 

“Time when the Dixons take over the world,” Merle mused, latching onto what Daryl had said before. 

“You an’ me both know we don’t come back from napalmin’ or whatever the hell it was they done to Atlanta,” Daryl said. “I don’t know what the hell’s goin’ on here brother, but we know that we got fuckin’ corpses strollin’ around plain as day. Had people on the radio sayin’ they were extremely dangerous. Killin’ people. Amy an’ me heard ‘em say that gettin’ bit or scratched or—any exchange like that? So that what they got gets into your body? Means you die. Fatal.”

“That’s fucked up shit, brother,” Merle said. “That’s what Andrea’s parents was. Some of them.”

“One of ‘em musta gone out,” Daryl said. “Got attacked. Brung it back to the house. Give it to the other one.” 

“I know this damned much,” Merle said. “I get bit by one of them things, you shoot me. Don’t you fuckin’ hesitate, neither. I don’t wanna take no chance I bite Andrea or…you or nothin’.” 

“Same,” Daryl said. 

“Promise, brother,” Merle prompted. 

“Dixon’s honor,” Daryl teased, remembering promises he’d made to Merle as a child. Neither of them had been boy scouts. Daryl didn’t know how much it costed to join the scouts, but he knew that they didn’t have that kind of money—or wouldn’t have been given it. Still, Daryl had been obsessed with becoming a boy scout and learning everything that he dreamed they knew—almost as much as the Native Americans, he was sure. Merle had told him that being a Dixon was just a good, if not better, than being a boy scout, and he’d done his best to make sure that Daryl had little trinkets like a compass, a pocket knife, and a couple of books on wilderness survival.

Merle had taught Daryl everything he ever knew about surviving, and in his pocket right now, Daryl knew that his first little pocket knife rested in among the other things he always carried. It had been the only thing Daryl owned to survive the fire because it had been in his pocket the day that they’d lost their mother—and everything she’d represented.

“Dixon’s honor,” Merle said with a smile. 

“You gotta lay off the shit, Merle,” Daryl said. “I got rid of what we found in your saddle bags and pillow. You got anything else?” 

“That was it,” Merle said.

“Don’t’cha fuckin’ lie to me,” Daryl said. “I ain’t pissed now an’ I done run interreference with Andrea. She understands it was everything that’s goin’ on. A genuine accident. You ain’t meant it. But if you fuckin’ lie to me now, Merle, I’ma be for real pissed.”

“That’s all the fuck I had, brother!” Merle snapped. 

“I can’t believe you fuckin’ brought that,” Daryl growled.

“Meant to get rid of it,” Merle said. “Tried a thousand times. Was gonna just throw it away. But I couldn’t.” 

“You packed that shit,” Daryl said.

“I got no excuses, Daryl,” Merle said. “What the hell you want me to say? I don’t know why the hell I packed it.”

“Because you’re a stupid, fuckin’ addict,” Daryl said.

“I don’t know why I’m the way I am,” Merle lamented.

“Fuck it,” Daryl said. “It don’t matter. It’s gone now. And you swear to me that’s it. You don’t got none stashed no damn where else.”

“Dixon’s honor,” Merle said. “Fuck Daryl—I’d swear to you on my life, but that ain’t worth shit. I swear to you on—on fuckin’ Andrea’s life. That’s all the hell there was. It weren’t even good stuff. You had to take a shit load to get anywhere.” 

“I ain’t gonna be sorry for you that you got bad shit,” Daryl said. 

“I weren’t askin’ you to,” Merle said. “Just sayin’ it weren’t worth a shit. But it’s gone.” 

“I believe you,” Daryl said. And he did, because Merle didn’t swear on Andrea’s life lightly. “You about got your shit together enough to go back to camp?” 

“I hardly lost my shit,” Merle mused.

“You was gonna beat Ed to death with a shovel,” Daryl pointed out.

“Still would,” Merle said. “Hell—I don’t have to be fuckin’ high to wanna do that.”

“You got in a fist fight with Shane and you were a pretty big asshole to me, Merle,” Daryl said. 

Merle laughed to himself.

“I wouldn’ta fuckin’ fought him if he hadn’t jumped me first,” Merle said. “All that police shit of make you do what the hell he thinks you should. Shoulda minded his own business. I was just gonna kill fuckin’ Ed, bury his sorry ass out here, an’ then brew some coffee. Shane’s the fuckin’ asshole that made it into some big fuckin’ deal.” 

Daryl laughed. 

“What the hell set your ass off? Just the crystal?” Daryl asked.

“Kept thinkin’ of the first time I saw your lil’ Mouse. So scared an’—an’ fuckin’ broken, Daryl. Her arm in that sling an’ she just looked so damn tiny and fragile. Made me think of her, you know?” 

“Mama?” Daryl asked.

“I just didn’t want him around,” Merle said. “I guess the crystal ain’t helped.” 

Daryl laughed to himself.

“At least sometimes you know why you do what the hell you do, Merle,” Daryl mused. “Don’t matter. He’s gonna step sideways one day. And when he does? It’s gonna be open season on his sorry ass.” 

Daryl stood up and reached a hand out in Merle’s direction to help him up.

“I’m sorry I was an asshole,” Merle said. “To you. Not to Shane.” 

“You’re always an asshole,” Daryl said. “It don’t bother me. An’ Shane’s gonna get used to it soon enough. Come on. If you got your head on half straight, I could use what the hell you got left of a brain. A bunch of people’s down there just waitin’ for some damn body to tell ‘em what the hell they oughta be doin’. It might as well be us.”


	8. Chapter 8

AN: Here we are, another chapter here. We’ll have a few little time jump/scene setting chapters here as we progress. There’s been a little time jump here as everyone’s been getting settled into their new lives. 

I hope you enjoy the chapter! Let me know what you think! 

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Like most people, Daryl had never killed a person. 

There had been times he’d thought about killing people—and maybe that was wrong in itself—but he’d never actually killed a person. 

Daryl had wanted to kill his old man more times than he could count. He’d imagined ways that he might do it. Even since the old man had been dead, there had been times that Daryl almost wished he could go back in time and kill him before he’d had a chance to fuck everything up. It would have put him wielding some kind of weapon before he could actually remember, and before he could walk or talk, but his imagination could sometimes run away with him and suggest that there might have been a moment when he could have ended it all and saved everyone in his family a hell of a lot of heartache.

Daryl had wanted to kill Ed Peletier, too, since the moment that he met Carol. The more he’d come to love Carol and Sophia, the greater his desire to see Ed Peletier wiped away from the face of the Earth had become. Barring extreme circumstances, however, he never would have actually done it. To kill Ed Peletier would have been to land himself in prison for pretty much the rest of his life, and to guarantee that he couldn’t spend that life with Carol and Sophia. When he thought about it that way, he’d rather spend his life making up for what Ed had done, in the realest and most sincere way that he could, than spend the rest of his life rotting in some cell over a man who never deserved to be alive anyway. 

Daryl had always thought that, for all his fantasizing about how easy it would be to kill someone that deserved it, it would really be incredibly hard to pull the trigger on a living human being and end their life.

Daryl was a hunter. He had been killing since he was a kid, and his brother had taken him out to teach him. Merle had let Daryl hunt since he was confident that the kickback wouldn’t knock him flat on his ass every single time he pulled the trigger. Daryl was no stranger to killing living things, but he didn’t even take that lightly. He respected the animals he hunted. He believed they deserved that respect. He ate what he killed—or he used it to feed others—and he didn’t believe in killing for sport. He didn’t kill because he enjoyed killing. He killed because it was the way of life. He killed to eat and to be sure that others ate.

Even the first time he’d had to kill one of the rotted corpses had been difficult. 

They didn’t know shit about the corpses except that they were moving fucking corpses that were set on attacking and killing the living. They knew enough from the reports they’d heard, before the radios had gone off the air and the whole world had seemed to go quiet, to know that the corpses were dangerous. There was something in the virus—whatever the fucking virus was that was determined to destroy the whole world—that made the corpses reanimate once the person died. Any swapping of fluid from the corpses, or from anyone who had been infected with the virus through some swapping of fluid with one of the corpses, would result in death. It was not a pleasant death, either. 

The first time that Daryl and Merle had encountered one of the corpses outside of camp, Daryl had hesitated to take a shot. It was unnerving to see a corpse—this one with half his face torn off and a great deal of chewed out places on his body—limping toward them, snapping and growling as he came. Merle had hesitated a little less, perhaps more prepared for something like this from his brief stint with the military, and he’d fired a bolt directly into the chest of the creature.

The bolt had barely slowed the thing down for half a second. Panic had set in, then, as Daryl had started to wonder if and how these things could be stopped. And, if they couldn’t be stopped, what would happen when they reached the camp and, subsequently, reached his family? 

He’d reacted, then. His first bolt had gone a little wild and struck the thing in the throat. It had kept coming. Merle had panicked and run forward to slam the butt of his rifle against the corpse’s head—it had become impossible to see it as a human any longer. It became nothing more than a horrifying monster set on destroying everything either of them held dear. The blow knocked it down, and Daryl’s next bolt went directly through the thing’s eye as it struggled to rise.

That was how they had discovered that the only way to kill the walking corpses—Walkers, as Merle decided to dub them—was to destroy their brain. 

As the time ticked on, Daryl had grown accustomed to killing Walkers. Many of them had. They cleared the surrounding areas, several times a day, to get rid of any who might stumble anywhere near their camp. Killing Walkers, though, was not at all like killing a living person.

Still, it had been easier to do than Daryl had thought it would be. 

Daryl had practically fallen to the ground when he’d reached the spot that he’d chosen for himself to sit in the tall grass. He wasn’t at all sure why he’d chosen this particular spot. It was just the right spot, and he’d dropped to his knees in the dumbest way possible. No intelligent person would go down like that, but Daryl wasn’t feeling quite intelligent as he’d hit the ground.

He was foggy. Something was foggy. Everything was foggy. Grass and dirt stuck to his hands and he’d wiped them on his shirt to clean them. The sensation of so much dirt and grass clinging to his fingers was uncomfortable and undesirable. It wasn’t until he put the cigarette in his mouth, fished from his shirt pocket, that he smelled the copper scent of blood. He flicked the lighter, lit his cigarette, and looked at his hands.

Daryl had thought of killing Ed Peletier before, but he’d never imagined that he’d actually do it. 

It looked like the asshole had lost most of the blood in his body. He couldn’t put blood back in him no more than he could have scooped water back in with his hands after a dam broke. 

Ed came over the line. And, in coming over the line, he’d decided that he had a right to talk to the little girl that—though she was the biological result of his coupling with Carol, once upon a time—didn’t care for his presence and didn’t identify as his daughter. Carol had intercepted him, as Carol was simply going to do. Daryl had been halfway across the camp. He’d been cleaning a deer he’d shot earlier. He saw when Ed grabbed Carol by the upper part of her arm. He’d seen, like in some kind of slow-motion dream, when Ed had landed three or four hard slaps across her face in rapid succession. He’d heard Sophia screaming. Crying. Moving his body had made him feel like anvils were tied around his ankles. But then, somehow, he’d found his momentum. 

The recently sharpened hunting knife might not have been Daryl’s first choice for a weapon if he’d been picking from everything available to him, but I had been what was in his hand. 

Some of the blood drying into the cracks of Daryl’s hands and darkening to an almost black color had belonged to the deer. Some was Ed’s. The rest of Ed’s blood, at that moment, was likely seeping into the Georgia ground.

Daryl jumped at the feeling of pressure on his shoulder. He hissed a warning at whoever or whatever might bother him. He’d left his knife, and that was probably not the best thing to do, but he wasn’t thinking too clearly. 

“Shhhh…” came the soft sound of Carol’s soothing. It was the same sound she used to calm Sophia after her nightmares—almost all of which had featured the monster that had been her biological father. “It’s OK….shhhh…” Carol soothed. She sat down on the ground next to Daryl, her hand still on his shoulder. He didn’t even mind being soothed like a child. For just a moment, he appreciated it. 

“Weren’t as hard as I thought it’d be to kill him,” Daryl said. “I’d do it again.” 

“I know you would,” Carol said. “But you don’t have to. He’s as dead as he’s going to get. That knife through his eye socket probably did something to seal the deal.” 

“You hate me?” Daryl asked.

Carol laughed quietly. 

“I couldn’t hate you,” she said. 

“Sophia?” 

“She’s never going to hate you,” Carol said. “She’s shook up. Badly. And I shouldn’t be gone too long, but Dale took her to Andrea so she and Amy could distract her with a chocolate bar he had squirreled away.” 

“She’s too old to be distracted with candy,” Daryl said.

“I hope that’s not true,” Carol said. “She’s going to have some rough days, probably, and nights. She hated him. Still, seeing him murdered—seeing anyone murdered. It’s going to take her a couple of days to come down. But—she’ll be OK.” 

“It was seein’ what he done to you that’s gonna fuck with her most of all,” Daryl said. “Just got her over the fuckin’ nightmares every damn night about somethin’ happenin’ to you. Just got her where she didn’t fuckin’ scream every time she thought someone was gonna hurt you and now…”

Then Daryl looked at her. He felt his chest tighten. He felt his throat tighten. Beyond his control, he felt his face draw up. Her lips were busted. There was blood on her face. And, unlike the blood on his hands, the blood on her face belonged to her. Daryl touched her face, wishing his hands weren’t dirty and bloody—wishing he had something clean to touch her with.

“He hurt you,” Daryl said. “And I didn’t stop him.” 

Carol smiled at him. Her eyes were filled with tears, and a few of them dropped down and rolled down her cheeks—cleaning streaks down her face as they went. 

“You stopped him for good, Daryl,” Carol said. “You stopped him—as much as anyone could. He’s never going to hurt me again. He’s never going to hurt Sophia again. He’s never going to…to touch her. And tonight? Sophia might not sleep. And I might be up all night with her. But when I do sleep? Daryl it’s going to be the best night’s sleep I’ve had since I met Ed. And you gave that to me. You did.” 

“But I didn’t stop him before he hurt you,” Daryl lamented, his chest feeling like it might split in two. He brushed a finger over Carol’s lips, lamented that his fingers were dirty, and then brushed them over her tear-streaked cheeks—angry to see that he’d only left a smudge of blood behind. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I let him hurt you. And I got you dirty.” 

She leaned and carefully pressed her lips to his. He accepted the kiss. He tasted the salt of her tears and the copper from the blood of her split lips and he pulled away, growling to himself. 

“I fuckin’ hate him,” Daryl growled.

“You can stop hatin’ him,” Merle said, his voice booming out as he approached. “Ain’t no need wastin’ your time an’ energy hatin’ worm food. It’s the same as hatin’ the old man at this point. You can do it, but you the only one hurtin’ from it.” Merle walked around, and knelt down in front of Daryl, supporting himself on one knee. “You alright, brother? You whole? Lit outta there ‘fore I could tell.” 

“I’m fine,” Daryl said.

Merle reached and touched Carol’s face, tipping her chin up toward him. 

“Ehhh,” he mused. “It’ll heal, Mouse. You go back to camp an’ we can help you get that shoulder back in.” 

“I know it’ll all heal, Merle,” Carol said.

“Jesus,” Daryl growled. “I ain’t even seen he pulled your fuckin’ shoulder out!” 

“It happens, especially after so many times,” Carol offered.

Daryl couldn’t breathe normally, and he worked to suck in a few quick breaths to calm himself. 

“Is he OK?” Carol asked, directing her question to Merle as she leaned against Daryl on her uninjured side. She leaned her head against Daryl’s shoulder, and Daryl realized that all of this probably scared Carol. It disturbed him, too. The way he felt, though, somewhat outside of himself, told him pretty quickly that he was coming out of shock—he wasn’t even all the way out of it yet. He reached a hand toward her and patted her. 

“He’s gonna be fine, Mouse,” Merle offered. “Diggin’ holes is good for the soul. Come on, brother. Gotta get back to the camp. Mouse’s got a lil’ pup to take care of, and you an’ me got an asshole to plant.” 

Merle stood up, helped Carol to her feet, and then heaved Daryl to his. Daryl staggered a second, almost feeling like he’d been on a boat, but quickly regained control of his legs. Merle clapped him on the shoulder, but there was nothing else to say, really. 

They would go and tend to Carol. Carol would tend to Sophia. Merle and Daryl had a body to bury.

Daryl had never killed a man before—at least, not until that day—but he didn’t regret what he’d done; not even for a minute.


	9. Chapter 9

AN: Here we are, another chapter here. 

I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! 

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Merle watched as his sister-in-law steeled herself with a few deep and purposeful breaths. He worked his fingers around her arm, satisfied he had a good hold. His other arm was braced to hold her body at just the right angle. She closed her eyes. Merle’s chest ached and his gut felt like he’d been sucker punched and the air just couldn’t get quite back in. Carol—Mouse, as he’d affectionately called her since he’d first met her—didn’t deserve what the man had done to her. She didn’t deserve what he’d done to her today—what had finally costed him his life—and she didn’t deserve what he’d done to her in the past that made her know exactly how to prepare herself for the pain that Merle was about to have to inflict on her. 

Merle didn’t have a choice, though. Daryl couldn’t do this. Or, rather, he could, but he shouldn’t have to. With the help of Jim and the man who called himself T-Dog, Daryl was dragging Ed’s sorry corpse out of camp. They were starting the hole so he could be fertilizer and, at least, contribute in some useful way to the world as worm food.

Andrea couldn’t do it. She wasn’t strong enough, not physically, and she was doing everything short of playing a snare drum while doing some kind of exotic dance to keep Sophia thoroughly distracted.

Merle was the only one that could do it, and he felt obligated to pretend that it didn’t bother him. He felt obligated to push, from his mind, that this skill was one he learned before his voice had solidly changed—and that he remembered, all too fucking well and far too clearly, what his mother’s face looked like when she steeled herself up for what she knew was coming.

“You ready?” He asked.

Carol laughed to herself.

“I’ll never be ready, Merle,” she said. He understood the sentiment. He pretended that it didn’t make his very soul—black as it must be after all these years—feel itchy inside of him. 

“Just take a minute,” Merle offered. “Breathe. Relax. While we waitin’—was thinkin’ about…Sophia. She oughta have somethin’. We oughta do somethin’ to say…insteada it’s like a scary ass thing, yyou know, we oughta have some kinda party like your old man ain’t here no more an’ he ain’t never gonna be.”

Carol smiled to herself.

“I like that,” she said. “But not a party. They wouldn’t understand.” 

“Just somethin’, then, that she might like?” Merle asked. “What’cha think she might like?” 

“Something to—make her fully a Dixon,” Carol said. “Just something symbolic since I get the feeling that the court’s never coming through with that adoption.” 

“Take her out cleanin’ rabbit snares just outside of camp?” Merle offered. “Get her to help—provide some food to put on the table? Let her go full Dixon.” 

Carol smiled. 

“She would love that,” Carol said, clearly imagining how pleased the girl would look with her string of rabbits, walking back into camp between the two brothers who, although they weren’t perfect, by any means, would do their best to teach her what the hell a man ought to be. 

Before Carol could realize what he was doing, and purposefully allowing the haze of her happiness over thoughts of her daughter to anesthetize her a little against what was coming, Merle snatched Carol’s arm at the right angle to move the joint back into place. He closed his eyes, not wanting to see the expression that went with the strangled cry she released. He turned his face away, quickly, and left the tent as fast as he could. He knew she needed comfort, but he couldn’t offer it. He wasn’t good at that kind of thing, and he didn’t want her to know that it made him feel like he’d just taken a boot to the sternum. 

“It’s back in now. It’ll heal quick. I’m sorry, Mouse,” he spat on his way out of the tent. “You stay put. I’m sendin’ Andrea.” 

Merle didn’t have to go far to find Andrea. She was hovering, outside of the RV, and she rushed toward Merle as soon as he’d stepped out of the tent. 

“Carol’s OK?” 

“Could use a sling. Gotta stabilize that arm. And get her something—some Tylenol, or somethin’, if we got it,” Merle offered. “Soph?” 

“Amy’s got her,” Andrea said. She’s teaching her how to tie fishing knots in the RV so she can take her fishing later.” 

Merle nodded his head. 

“I gotta help ‘em bury the body,” Merle said. “You oughta go—tend to Mouse.” 

Andrea offered Merle a soft smile. She hugged herself, like she was cold or seeking just an extra bit of comfort. It wasn’t cold—not yet—so he assumed it was a natural reaction to everything that had been happening lately.

“You OK, Merle?” Andrea asked. 

She’d be worried. It was things like this—things like what seemed to be happening around them every day—that would have him looking for a way to run away. And if he couldn’t, or wouldn’t, run away physically, which he absolutely wouldn’t in these conditions, he’d always run away mentally.

“I’m as fine as anybody else is, Andrea,” Merle said.

“That wasn’t what I asked,” Andrea said. 

“I’m clean,” Merle said. “And I don’t got shit on me. So, you don’t gotta worry about it. I’ma stay that way.” 

“I’ll take care of you later, Merle,” Andrea said. “Promise.” 

There was an innocence in the words—a sincerity—that almost seemed out of place with the meaning behind them. Andrea clearly sensed that Merle needed some release. Andrea understood him. She understood him too damn well, maybe. She put up with shit he ought not to put her through, but he didn’t always feel in control of himself. He didn’t always feel like he understood himself. Sometimes, Merle felt like Andrea understood him better than he understood himself. 

She would know that he usually sought release, if he couldn’t find it by ingesting some chemical substance, in physical activity. He coaxed, from his body, whatever chemicals it had to offer. His preferred release was to fuck her—sometimes in ways he didn’t even intend and sometimes begged forgiveness for—whenever possible. He couldn’t fuck her ten ways to Sunday at the moment, though—the atmosphere just wouldn’t allow it, and they had things to do. And, since that was his preferred release, he would have to settle for the chemicals he got from other physical exertion. He would have to settle for digging a hole and burying an asshole.

Andrea pecked him quickly on the cheek. She patted his shoulder. And then, hugging herself again like she was warding off the cold that wasn’t surrounding them, she rushed on toward the tent where Merle had left Carol.

Merle lit a cigarette for himself. Before directing himself toward the area where he knew his brother and some others were working on a hole that would be deep enough for Ed’s remains not to end up dragged all over the place by wild animals and smelling up the world worse than it already stunk, Merle headed toward the place where they kept their tools. It was likely they’d come up short. They’d probably only taken one shovel to allow for the dragging of the body. Ed hadn’t been a small man, and moving his corpse, when it was dead weight, wouldn’t have allowed for carrying much more. 

Merle intended to carry what he could in the way of shovels and something like a pick axe to break up the hard dirt they might encounter as they dug.

While he was sorting through the tools, smoking his cigarette in peace, Shane walked up behind him. Merle was aware of his presence long before the man spoke, but he pretended that he wasn’t for Shane’s benefit.

“We can’t just have people killing each other,” Shane said. 

“Holy shit, Officer Jumpy,” Merle mused, laughing to himself. “Your paranoid ass oughta know better’n to sneak up on some damn body like that. You’ll get a pick axe through the skull that weren’t even intended for you.” 

Shane didn’t look amused. Of course, Merle couldn’t say that, in all the time they’d been there, he’d ever really seen Shane look entirely amused. He was decent enough as a leader—in that he didn’t mind dealing with absolutely everyone there, and their sometimes whiny ass needs, when Merle might have lost his cool with too damn many of them—but he was jumpy as hell and he was too damn intense about shit that didn’t have to be so serious. The world was hurtling straight toward hell, and they were all hanging on for the ride, but this guy could still manage to make shit far too funereal. 

“I mean it, Merle,” Shane said. 

“I know you do.” Merle laughed to himself. 

“People start killing each other and—where does it end? Where do we stop killing each other?” 

“I guess we don’t,” Merle said. “We keep on killin’ them that needs it, maybe. Listen—we ain’t walkin’ around killin’ people for eatin’ the last of the Ho Hos. Ed Peletier had that shit comin’ for decades. You saw what he done to Carol just now. He’da done a helluva lot worse, too, if he’da had half the chance. If my brother hadn’t got in there an’ got him fuckin’ killed. The hell would you have done if it had been that lil’ boy of yours that mighta been about to fuckin’ sodomize like the sick fuckin’ pervert he was? Hmmm? Or if he was beatin’ on your lil’ skinny ass woman? Bustin’ up her face an’ tryin’ to rip her fuckin’ limbs off? What would you have done? Can you tell me you’da done different than what my lil’ brother done?”

Merle saw the muscle in Shane’s face jump as he considered what Merle had said. He might pretend that he disapproved, but Merle could practically smell it on the man. Whether or not he’d been this way before the world turned—and Merle had to somewhat believe he had been, because he’d known a lot of cops in his life and, whether it was the personality that led to the job or the job that led to the personality, he knew that there was always something a little different about them—Shane was a man who had something rattling around inside of him that had cracked and at least begun to shatter.

Merle hummed at him.

“Got my answer,” he said. “Ed got what’s been comin’ to him. What the hell he deserved. Ain’t sorry the fucker’s dead.”

“There are other ways to handle conflicts,” Shane said. 

Merle laughed to himself. 

“Like you wouldn’t beat a man?” Merle asked. 

“When it’s my job…”

“Consider this Daryl’s job,” Merle said. “He promised that woman, when he married her, that he’d do everything he could to protect her. He put it right there, in his vows, his own damn self. He took that oath serious. Real damn serious. He meant it. And today, he made good on that shit. It was all in the line of duty—protectin’ his fuckin’ woman and his kid. You don’t know shit, Officer Jumpy, about what the hell family means to a Dixon.” Shane was still staring at him. The muscle had relaxed in his face, though. His jaw was no longer clenched. Merle laughed to himself. “Didn’t know you had such strong damn affections for Ed,” Merle offered. “If you was so enamored of his ass, you shoulda been the one that got there first. Broke up the fight. Negotiated a different outcome. Play innocent all the hell you want, Shane, but you stood back like the rest of ‘em. You let it happen. You ain’t got a spot of blood on you. You didn’t even lift a pinky to try to save that man. You wanted him dead as much as anybody else. You let that shit happen. But if you gotta run the fuck around an’ snort an’ say you didn’t? That you’re against what happened? Hmmm? If that’s what you think you gotta do to keep the peace around here when people ain’t so much as had a disagreement about shit except what the fuck to do with that piece of shit that’s already rottin’ as we speak? Then you pretend your ass was against it, but don’t believe—not for one fuckin’ minute—that I don’t see you, and that I don’t know you never tried to save that man because you wanted my brother to kill him.” 

Shane knew it was true, and he could only fake so much indignance. 

“I’m keeping my eye on you,” he said. There was very little emotion behind the statement, and there was certainly less than he meant to put behind it for show. Merle dropped his cigarette butt, ground it out with his shoe, and shrugged his shoulders before collecting together everything he’d decided to take with him to make the burial just a little easier. 

“Aww, shucks,” he drawled. “I’m flattered, but I already got me a wife and—I really do prefer fuckin’ a good piece of pussy.” He winked at Shane. “But I’ll keep you in mind, Officer Jumpy, in case somethin’ ever fucks me up bad enough that the wind starts to blow in the opposite damn direction.”

“Go to hell, Merle,” Shane offered. Merle couldn’t tell, but he thought the man might have actually lightened up a little, for a second.

“Looks like I’m goin’ as fast as I fuckin’ can,” Merle offered. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I got some ground to fertilize.”


	10. Chapter 10

AN: Here we are, another chapter here. 

I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! 

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“Is Sophia OK?” Carol asked, her voice barely coming out as more than breath because she didn’t want Sophia to overhear, she didn’t want to wake anyone else, and she didn’t want to do anything to alert any creatures that may be ambling close outside of their camp. 

They had learned, from observing the creatures—because Carol couldn’t think of the monsters as humans at all, that they were able to hear, and they followed sound. They turned their heads, this way and that, and they fixated on objects, but they all believed that they could only see shapes and light. It was possible to confuse them by standing still and even partially hiding or blending in with the surroundings. They could absolutely smell the living, however. There was no doubt about that. And their sense of smell could, sometimes, be the most dangerous sense they had.

So far, though, the tin can warning system around their camp was working well. Each morning, when they went out to hunt, Daryl and Merle killed all the Walkers in the immediate area of the camp. Usually there were no more than four bunched together—because they were almost always together and seemed to travel in bunches, packs or, according to Glenn, even in herds—in the vicinity. Around midday, Shane would take someone with him to clear the Walkers, again, and to make sure the camp was safe. Just before sunset, two other volunteers would walk the outside perimeter of the camp and, finally, just before they settled in for the night, all of them checked the tin can warning system for anything that might have damaged it during the day and, while they did that, they assured themselves that none of the Walkers had gotten close to the camp.

Still, at night they were particularly careful to keep their noise level low. A few sounds escaped tents—scattered conversations and some undeniable sounds of sex which Carol, unable to shelter her daughter in a world like this, and not wanting to build a castle of lies, had explained to Sophia as sounds of a special kind of grown-up “love” between the married men and women of the camp. Sophia was a child that was pleased with love, especially since she’d seen so little of it early in her life, and so she accepted that entirely and, remarkably, with a great deal less question than Carol had expected.

Tonight, Carol didn’t want to wake anyone, and she certainly didn’t want to draw the Walkers to the camp. After such a stressful and exhausting day, the only thing she wanted was to sit and enjoy the quiet a little before bed. 

Daryl laughed to himself as he pulled the folding chair close to Carol and sat next to her. He reached his hand over and took hers gently in his. 

“You an’ her are two peas in a damned pod, you know that?” He asked.

Carol couldn’t help but laugh to herself at his tone of voice.

“What do you mean?” Carol asked.

“Whole reason she wanted me to tuck her in was so she could get me in there an’ make me pinky promise that you was gonna be OK,” Daryl said. 

“Did you do it?” Carol asked.

“Did I do what?” Daryl asked, helping himself to one of his cigarettes and taking back his hand only long enough to light it. 

“Pinky promise her that I was going to be OK?” Carol asked.

Daryl sucked in a breath and let it out with something of a sigh. He was tired, too. He had to be exhausted. Physically, he’d overexerted himself. He’d hunted that morning, spent most of the afternoon digging Ed’s grave after he’d killed him, and then had put himself to normal camp chores like he hadn’t killed Ed in the heat of the day. His eyes had been red-rimmed for much of the day, and Carol could see it was all weighing heavily on him, but she didn’t push him one way or another—and she wasn’t going to deny him this quiet time of sitting with her. She brushed her thumb over the skin of his hand and squeezed it gently, more than aware of the blisters that dotted his palms and fingers from heavy digging—six foot down in hard soil was hard for all of them. He hummed in satisfaction over the gentle touch.

“I did the only thing I could do in good faith,” Daryl said. “I pinky promised her that I would do everything I could to make sure that you an’ her both was OK.” 

“You take good care of us,” Carol assured him. They were simple words, but she used them often. She meant them and, beyond that, Daryl appreciated them. Carol enjoyed giving him anything she could to make him happy because he truly appreciated everything and, of course, because he really did take such good care of both she and Sophia. 

“I think she’s actually gonna sleep tonight,” Daryl offered, not responding to Carol’s words with more than just a light squeeze of her fingers that were locked in his. She didn’t need more than that. 

“Yeah?” Carol asked. Daryl hummed.

“She was actually pretty much out when I come out here,” Daryl said. “About couldn’t keep her eyes open to hear me tell her what she wanted to hear.” 

Carol smiled to herself. She felt the split in her lip pull and tear a little. She felt the dampness on her lower lip from the slow seeping of a little blood. It would do that for days. She didn’t care, though. Not really. It was the last time that Ed would ever split her lip, and that thought numbed most of the inconvenient pain of recovering from what he’d done. 

Carol moved her chair over as close to Daryl’s as she could get it, returned her hand to his, and leaned her head against his shoulder. He kneaded her hand in his as a silent show of approval for the affection. 

“She’s tired, Daryl,” Carol said softly. “We’re both tired. Exhausted. It’s been a long fight with Ed—her whole life. Even before she was born and, maybe, she has some kind of sense memory that I was fighting for her—against him—even when she was still just forming…growing inside me.” 

“That shit never shoulda fuckin’ been so,” Daryl muttered.

Carol smiled to herself and squeezed his fingers, this time, to draw him back to her and to the moment at hand—to keep him from going too deep into his feelings about Ed or anyone else that had no business treating women the way that they did. Daryl’s feelings about abuse, after all, ran very deep and were very personal. Carol never minded hearing him, and she never minded helping him out of his darkness, but she didn’t want him to even have to feel that—not tonight. Tonight was about enjoying the peace that was currently around them. 

“My point is that, we’re both exhausted. Ed wore us out. But now he’s gone and Sophia can sleep, for the first time in her whole life, without worrying—what’s going to happen with Ed. She doesn’t have to worry, anymore, about if he’s ever going to hurt me again. She doesn’t have to worry about if he’s going to try to get to her or do something to hurt our family. She can just—sleep. And she can do it knowing that you’re here, keeping watch over both of us.” Carol sighed. “I can sleep, too. God—Daryl. I can sleep tonight and know—he’s never going to touch her again.” 

“Ain’t gonna touch you either,” Daryl said. Now he was playing with her fingers while her hand rested on his leg. He’d flipped her hand over and he tapped his fingertip against each of hers, letting his finger dance back and forth across all her fingertips like he was playing some kind of instrument. When Daryl had a lot on his mind—or even just one thing that he was really chewing over—he fidgeted. His fingers needed to keep busy. Sometimes, it seemed that he needed his fingers to keep as busy as his mind was, and so they ran quite quickly through whatever task he picked up. For now, he was satisfied with toying with Carol’s fingers, and she appreciated the gesture more than she ever should for something so simple.

“No,” Carol said. “He won’t. Never again.” 

“I’m still sorry he did what he did,” Daryl said.

“I know you are,” Carol said. “But it doesn’t matter. It’s done. And he’s paid for it. And he’ll never do it again. You know, that’s the first time that I ever felt like—Ed really paid for it. Even those couple of times he went to jail, I never felt like it was worth it. I just knew he’d come back with a vengeance.” 

Daryl laughed to himself. 

“Well, he ain’t comin’ back this time. It was a small ass target, but I got his brain. And we planted his ass deep—six feet, and maybe seven. Buried him face down, too, just like Merle wanted. Even if he was to come back outta some kinda fuckin’ mutation of this virus? His dumb ass couldn’t find the way out of that hole we put him in.” 

Carol laughed to herself at the image, despite the fact that something in her gut tried to tell her that it was improper to laugh at the dead—even the dead that she wasn’t sorry to see gone.

“You didn’t really, did you?” 

“Bigger’n shit,” Daryl assured her. The glow of his cigarette was the only thing that distinguished any part of him from any other part in the darkness. He was little more than more solid darkness against the darkness that wrapped around them. The moon and the stars lit up the camp a little, but not much. It was a cloudy night. Carol leaned her head against him once more, nuzzling him a little, and stayed that way for a few moments with the two of them simply enjoying the quiet together.

It was Daryl that broke the silence first.

“I was scared she’d be scared of me, ya know? Seein’ what I done an’ all that blood,” Daryl mused quietly.

“She’s seen blood before,” Carol said. “But I understand what you mean.”

“She weren’t upset at all,” Daryl said, his tone still making it clear that he was doing little more than thinking out loud and inviting Carol to join him. “Not about him, at least. She was plenty upset, but it didn’t seem like she reserved any of it for him. It was all about you and—were you hurt or not?” 

“Maybe he’s used up any care she had for him,” Carol offered. “Maybe—now she just—doesn’t have any left. He made it so that she couldn’t love him. I don’t think we should hold it against her that she honored his wishes.”

“Oh—I weren’t sayin’ that,” Daryl said. “Weren’t sayin’ none of that. Hell—I don’t fault her if she don’t never think of him again with any kind of decent thought. I guess I was just…noticing. She did like your idea, though, about goin’ to clear traps first thing in the morning.” 

Carol smiled to herself. 

“That was your brother’s idea, actually,” Carol said. “Some kind of rite of passage. Something to take her all the way from being a Peletier to being a Dixon.”

“I like that,” Daryl said. “Leave the name of Peletier fuckin’ buried in the dirt out here where it ought to be. Ain’t nobody here but us Dixons.” 

“Nobody here but us Dixons,” Carol mused. “And one Harrison. Annoying as she can be sometimes, we can’t leave Amy all alone. No matter how much—no matter how much Andrea’s parents used her to hurt Andrea? It was never Amy’s fault, and Andrea loves her sister, despite it all.”

“Hell,” Daryl mused, “maybe we’ll just figure out some kinda fuckin’ rite of passage for her ass, too. Looks like Merle an’ Andrea’s gonna be stuck draggin’ her along forever anyway.” 

“What do you think we do, Daryl?” Carol asked. 

“What do you mean?” 

“Do we just live here forever? In our—pop-up camp at the quarry?” Carol asked.

“No,” Daryl said. 

“What do you think we do?” Carol repeated.

“Hell if I know right now,” Daryl said. “But I’m gonna know. We gonna figure it out. It’s just—early, right now. Too soon. We don’t know if we go back or—if there’s anything left to go back too. That lil’ Asian boy’s been makin’ the runs.” 

“Glenn,” Carol reminded him. “He’s Korean.”

“We’ll start makin’ bigger runs with him,” Daryl said, ignoring her input and clarification. “Get more of us goin’. It’ll be safer that way, anyway. We can bring more back at once. Saves us trips among the dead.” 

“Isn’t that still short term?” Carol asked. “We haven’t seen another living person, outside of this camp, since that night outside of Atlanta. Right? Glenn says it looks like there’s nobody left but the dead. Can that be true? And what do we do when—everything runs out?”

“Before it gets to that, we’ll figure somethin’ out,” Daryl said. “A way to grow our own food. Build somethin’ worth havin’. Here or…or even somewhere better. I’ma take care of you and Sophia, though. Promise. We gonna figure it all out. It’s still early right now, though, and we just don’t know too damn much.” 

Carol sucked in a breath. The night was nice. It wasn’t too hot. Daryl’s hand wasn’t sweaty in hers, despite the fact that he’d returned to holding it. 

His words were soothing. They calmed the worries that rolled around in Carol’s gut. It was early, and they had no idea who was out there—or what was out there. They didn’t know, yet, what the world around them might become. Still, Carol believed Daryl because he’d never lied to her before. He’d always kept his promise, since the very first time he’d made it, to take care of her and Sophia. She had every reason to believe that he would continue to keep that promise. Dixons, he’d taught her, had a code by which they lived their lives—at least, they had one that he and Merle had created and sworn to fight, against everything that sometimes went wrong inside themselves, to live in accordance with it.

Dixons took care of each other.

Carol might not know what the future looked like for all of them, but she could rest. She could believe that there was a future. They just had to feel it out and, more than likely, they had to roll with a couple of proverbial punches.

But Dixons were good at that, too.

“I know you’ll take care of us,” Carol said. “And we’ll take care of you.”

“Always do, woman,” Daryl offered.

Carol smiled to herself. The sting of her split lip almost felt welcome—a burning reminder of the warm feeling of happiness that replaced the horror she’d once known. The horror—her past—gave her the wound. Her present happiness, though, gave her the sting as the wound healed. She’d take the sting. 

“I know something else,” she said. “It might be early to figure everything out, but it’s late for Dixons that have rabbit traps to clean in the morning and little Dixons to initiate fully into the clan.”

“You right,” Daryl said, standing up and offering to help Carol up. She accepted his assistance. Her body was stiff. “Come on, Carol. Let’s get some sleep.” 

She gladly entered the tent at his urging, undressed quickly while he did the same, down to what they would wear for sleeping, and slipped under the sleeping bag they used to cover themselves. She closed her eyes as he wrapped himself around her, soothed some of his concerns about her shoulder, and drifted off to a deep and restful sleep, listening to the sounds of Daryl’s even breathing near her ear.


	11. Chapter 11

AN: Here we are, another chapter here.

I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! 

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They had days where everything went so smoothly that they could have all sat around the fire while they ate supper and sang camp songs together. 

Other days, it seemed like everyone was ready to claw the eyes out of everyone else. 

That was the nature of the beast, perhaps, when you were trying to pull together so many people who really had nothing in common beyond the fact that they were trying to survive in a world that really seemed to want them dead. 

The biggest problem, perhaps, was that it was virtually impossible to tell what kind of day it was going to be until things just started to either fall into place or to go to hell. 

Daryl had broken up the fight that broke out between Merle and T-Dog somewhere not too long after the sunrise—something that had started because of Merle making comments about T-Dog’s chosen name that the man didn’t like. Then, Daryl had later broken up the fight that started between Merle and Morales. 

Andrea heard about the second fight when Morales’ wife, Miranda, who had been doing her shift of watching the children while others were doing various chores around the camp, had found Andrea washing clothes and had practically dragged her off to the edge of the camp to yell at her in private.

“I’m not a puppeteer,” Andrea had finally declared, growing annoyed with the woman. “I don’t know how you handle your husband, but I don’t control Merle.”

“Maybe that’s the problem,” Miranda said.

Andrea couldn’t have sworn, if anyone had asked, if it was the woman’s words or her tone that felt like a hot knife in Andrea’s gut, but one of them felt like it sliced through her. She swallowed back against the desire to cry over the hurt of it. 

Andrea normally had no problem with Miranda Morales. The woman was quiet and, for the most part, she seemed content to keep a decent amount of distance between herself and everyone else. She had her family with her, and she was trying to survive. Andrea could respect that.

“I don’t know what happened between my husband and your husband,” Andrea said, holding her voice as steady as she could—something she could normally handle, if she concentrated hard enough, thanks to her past in law. 

“Your husband is insane,” Miranda snapped. “And—he says things he shouldn’t say.” 

Andrea laughed to herself.

“And he’s loud, and he’s crass, and he’s an asshole,” Andrea said. “What do you want me to say? I’m sorry. And I can stand here and apologize to you all day long for the fact that Merle probably said something to piss off your husband—he does that at least once a day and twice on Sundays. But I can’t control Merle. I can’t change him. All I can do is—accept him for who he is and…and hope that he makes changes for himself. For all of us.” She shook her head. “Look—he’s already off the drugs, and that’s been a big change…”

“You think people are supposed to accept that he acts like he acts because he quit taking drugs, and so we should celebrate that?” Miranda asked.

“No,” Andrea said. “I only mean—it’s a step in the right direction. And a step in the right direction means the possibility for another step, especially if…if he feels like he’s supported by the people around him. Appreciated in some way, even if I understand that it’s not always possible to appreciate everything about him. Just a little acceptance, maybe.” Andrea could feel her face growing warm and her patience growing thin. “But—if that’s too hard for you? Then, maybe you just learn to tolerate it because, as far as I can see? It’s been my husband, and my family, that’s been putting food in your mouth and in your kids’ mouths since we got here. So, let that buy us whatever fucking grace you’ve got to give, or see how long you last without the meat to stretch that one can of corn for a week.” 

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“They’d rather deal with Daryl,” Andrea said.

“To be fair,” Carol said with a laugh. “So, would I and, sometimes, so would you.” 

“He’s not a bad person,” Andrea said. “It hurts me—it physically hurts me—when people think he’s nothing but a monster.”

“He’s certainly not a monster. And I know he’s not even a bad person,” Carol said. “He’s just—an acquired taste.”

“I’m not making excuses for him,” Andrea said. “I know he’s an asshole.” 

“You know better than any of us, except for maybe Daryl, how big of an asshole Merle Dixon can be,” Carol said. “And you’re not making excuses for him. In fact, as long as I’ve known either of you, you’ve never made excuses for Merle. You accept him. You love him, even during the times when the whole world wondered how you could, but you’ve always made him answer for his shit.” 

“I do love him,” Andrea said with a sigh.

Carol laughed to herself.

“I know you do,” she said. 

“If he’d just stop fucking with people,” Andrea said. 

Carol hummed and shrugged her shoulders. “That’s part of who Merle is. He’s going to fuck with people. Sometimes that’s a sign of affection from Merle. Sometimes it’s just because he’s in a pissy mood and he’s going to get someone before they get him. One of the biggest problems we’ve got around here, if you ask me, is that we’ve got a lot of overgrown little boys who haven’t learned that old nursery rhyme about sticks and stones.” 

Andrea hummed in agreement and laughed to herself, after a moment, before she got up to bring another basket of clothes and, wedging it into the space in the water beside her, let the clothes begin to soak before they started scrubbing them. 

“Do you know Shane called me spoiled this morning?” Andrea mused.

“Spoiled?” Carol asked.

Andrea hummed and picked up her board, resting it against her knees again, and started scrubbing at the next piece of wet clothing that she picked up. Carol used a brush to gently brush at the wet clothing she draped over her knee in the absence of enough scrubbing boards for them all. It was easier work for her, given that her shoulder wasn’t entirely healed, despite the few weeks that had passed since Ed’s death, and it had especially not healed to repetitive motions. Andrea did the heavier soiled pieces on her board, leaving the light work to Carol. They continued to add scrubbing boards to their lists of things that people should search for as they scoured new locations on exploratory runs that took place every few days. If they had more boards, after all, they could bring in more workers at one time to help with the laundry.

“I was pissed because Amy sent me to get a pole for her this morning and I swear that half the people around here—probably those overgrown little boys, as you said—can’t put anything back neatly. They get near our little tool area and I swear they stand eight feet away from it and throw whatever they’re returning to the area. Things are getting damaged. Something’s going to end up broken. And regardless of the fact that we don’t have enough things to be ruining what we have, a lot of those tools belong to Dale and he’d be upset if they got broken.” 

“And Shane called you spoiled for that?” Carol asked.

“For the tantrum, I guess,” Andrea said. 

“What’d you say to him?” 

“Nothing,” Andrea said, shrugging her shoulders. “I was too upset. I swear—it’s been one thing after another today. I was either going to scream or to cry, and I’d already screamed at the tools, so I was afraid that I’d cry. I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. Hell—I don’t know. Maybe I am spoiled.”

“I don’t care if you’re spoiled or not,” Carol offered, “that’s still pretty rich coming from Shane. All things considered; I’d say that his wife is the most spoiled of everyone here.” 

“You mean Miss nosebleeds?” Andrea teased. She rolled her eyes at Carol when Carol made eye contact with her. “Or—Miss fainting spells and heat stroke?” 

“Madame anemia,” Carol added.

Lori was Shane’s woman. They called her his wife, and he’d never actually corrected anyone, but Sophia told Carol that Carl—the boy that everyone thought was their son—told her that his real father had died just about the time that everything had begun with the virus. Carol had never questioned Shane or Lori about it, because it really wasn’t any of her business, but Sophia wasn’t a child that usually told lies, so she had no reason to believe that the girl would create something like that as a story to simply tell.

Lori was friendly enough. She got along with most everyone, as long as they didn’t cross her, or say or do anything that she didn’t care for. Since Shane had self-appointed himself the leader, and since none of them really cared to dispute that because they needed a figurehead and he had the personality for dealing with every person and every situation, Lori was the unofficial First Lady of the camp. She was very good, as a First Lady, at delegating roles and giving speeches about the importance of things they needed to accomplish around the camp, and how they needed to handle things like chores and rations, but she wasn’t much good at actually pitching in and doing her share. 

She was anemic, she said. She had trouble with the heat which, thankfully, would be breaking a little before too long. The sun, too, caused her problems. She was good at sitting in the shade, drinking cool water and watching the children—except when she disappeared without warning and without telling anyone and came back half an hour later, laughing and excusing herself because she had to help Shane with something dealing with the “camp perimeters” – but she wasn’t good at too much else that needed to be done. 

Lori was the number one reason that Merle snipped and snapped at Shane these days, and she was one of the reasons that Daryl got up, on more than one occasion, from whatever he was doing and went to clean traps that couldn’t be full, or to kill Walkers that hadn’t bunched up, usually while muttering a “fucking hell” or two under his breath as he went. 

For as much as they might not like Merle, it wasn’t as though any of the Dixons were really winning popularity contests. Of course, it wasn’t really as though they were trying or were too concerned. 

“Maybe it’s better if Daryl goes,” Andrea said. Carol only realized she’d begun to daydream a moment when Andrea spoke and drew her back to the present moment.

“What?” She asked, using her hand to splash a little cold water on her face. She didn’t care if she was soaked. The sun would dry them both quickly when they quit with the laundry.

“Maybe it’s better if Daryl goes on the run,” Andrea said. “Merle can stay here. Hunt, clear traps. He can guard the camp as well as Daryl can.” 

Carol hummed.

“I don’t think—who could guard the camp was the reason that they decided for Merle to go,” Carol said. “Daryl’s strong, but Merle’s stronger. Physically, out there? Merle’s got a little more brawn than Daryl does. He and T-Dog will be the main muscle of the group if it comes down to handling a bunch of those creatures up close and personal. And, besides that, Merle’s the stronger tracker and survivalist of the two. You know that. Everything Daryl learned, he learned it from Merle. He doesn’t hesitate to tell anyone that. Daryl’s worried about that many people not making it back. We know the area here. The camp is up and running, and we’re doing all right. The real danger, now, is in going down there. Let’s say that something happens and they can’t come back the way they went. Daryl’s worried that he wouldn’t know how to get them back here safely. Merle might get lost, but Daryl believes he’s got a better chance of figuring out where he is and leading them back if something were to happen.” 

“Merle found this place,” Andrea said. “Years ago. It was the first place he ever brought me for a weekend.” She laughed to herself. “Back when I had just graduated high school. Maybe I’d just started college, and I could disappear for a weekend. Back—not long before we got married. Might have even been where…you know…where I got pregnant. We pitched our tent over there—right where we’ve got the cooking fire now. He told me—he said, Andrea, if you’re ever gonna be a Dixon, you gotta learn how the hell to survive. Now, Sugar, you already know about survivin’ the fucked-up people of the world. It’s about time you learn how to take care of yourself when you finally have to tell ‘em all to go to hell.” 

Carol laughed at Andrea’s impression of Merle. 

“That’s not a bad impression,” Carol offered. “And, considering how everything happened after that, with your family, it’s kind of prophetic.” 

“That was—during one of the many, many times that Merle was on the wagon,” Andrea said. She sucked in a breath and let it out with a sigh. “I came out here thinking he was crazy for talking to me about being a Dixon when I hardly knew him and I was just starting college. I wasn’t ever going to get married, and certainly not to Merle Dixon. But I left that stupid camping trip thinking there wasn’t much else that I wanted in the world—and then a couple of lines on some cheap pregnancy tests sealed the deal. But that’s not the only reason I married him; you know?”

“I do know,” Carol agreed. “Better than most.” 

“They’ll use him,” Andrea said. “Daryl and Merle…they’ll used them both. Find a safe place. Find safe passage in and out of different parts of Georgia for runs. Find food. Build shelter. They’ll use them, but they’ll never appreciate them. Not really. Merle’s not wrong when he says they’ll always see them as something else. Something outside. Some kind of freaks.”

Carol laughed to herself.

“And they’ll always see us as freaks for marrying them,” Carol said. “But I’ve been called worse. And so have you. I guess we’ll all survive. That’s what Dixons do, right? Here—pass me those undershirts.”


	12. Chapter 12

AN: Here we are, another chapter here. 

I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! 

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“Have you heard anything else?” Andrea asked, crawling over the top of the RV’s ladder. 

“Not for a while now,” Dale mused. “What I heard before, I barely heard, to be honest. The signal’s too weak. We’re too far away. Even up here.” The old man patted the lawn chair next to his. “Why don’t you sit down, Andrea? Take a break.” 

“There’s so much to be done,” Andrea said.

Dale laughed to himself.

“There’s never a shortage of things to be done, Andrea,” Dale said. “And the truth of it is that things never get done. There’s always something else to do. Sit down a minute. Catch your breath. I’ve been watching you, and half of what you’re doing is invented to keep busy. There’s no sense in lying to me. I’m old enough to know these things.”

Andrea sighed and accepted the seat next to Dale.

Dale was the oldest of their group. He’d been an over-prepared kind of person before the world had tumbled into chaos. He’d been away from home, on a road trip, whenever things had gone crazy, and he’d headed for Atlanta as the closest safe haven. That’s how they’d crossed tracks, of course, in the traffic jumble outside of Atlanta. In a lot of ways, though, Andrea felt like she’d known Dale longer than the months they’d been camping at the quarry and wondering what would become of the world—and of all of them. Maybe it was just something about the man that made him feel like someone she just knew. Maybe it was simply the fact that he was pretty accepting of everyone as long as he wasn’t witnessing them actively wronging someone else—and he was gentle with his reprimands when he felt the need to dole them out. 

He did his share of work around the camp, but they tended to give him some of the less strenuous jobs, given his age. He spent a great deal of his time, on top of his RV, keeping watch for Walkers that might be coming toward the camp. So far, he’d helped them get ahead of quite a few small bunches that might have caused some trouble if they’d gotten too close.

“Drink this,” Dale said, offering Andrea a bottle of water—one of the many that they kept and constantly refilled.

“I’m fine,” Andrea said. 

“I didn’t ask if you were fine,” Dale said. “I told you to drink it.” 

Andrea accepted the water, knowing good and well that Dale wasn’t going to let it go, and she thanked him. 

“I think we’re all worried about everybody that’s out there right now. Glenn, Jacqui, T-Dog…but I think there’s something different about that worry when it’s your family. There’s so little of that left these days for everyone—family. There was so little of it left for some of us even before all of this. Miranda’s worried about Morales. And you’re worried about Merle.” 

Andrea laughed to herself. She didn’t feel the laughter, she only felt the need to release something, however she could, that was suffocating her. 

“And everybody that’s not a Dixon is wondering why,” Andrea mused. “You think we’re deaf and we don’t hear it here or there…just people talking among themselves. Expressing their opinions. Do you think they’re any different right now than they are on any normal day? Why would I be worried about Merle? Why would any of us care, right? They’ll say Daryl’s his brother. He can’t help it, maybe. He has to care. And Carol? She stands in solidarity with her husband. She supports him. But what about Andrea? Why the hell would she marry Merle in the first place? Why would she stay married to him?” Andrea glanced at Dale. She stopped watching the comings and goings of people below. “I’m sorry,” she said. “You didn’t ask me up here to listen to me rant.” 

Dale laughed to himself.

“I asked you up here for the company,” he said. “I made no stipulations about what that company should be like. Still, when Irma was alive, sometimes she’d tell me that I could bother the stripes off a tiger. It doesn’t make any sense, but it was her way of saying, nicely, that I had a special way of getting on her nerves, sometimes.” He smiled to himself, the way he always did when he talked about his wife—the death of whom had been the catalyst to his RV adventure and without which they might have never met. “I loved Irma dearly—dearly. I don’t think I even realized how much I loved her until she was gone. But she had her moments, too.” 

“We all have our moments,” Andrea said, smiling at Dale.

“That’s precisely my point,” Dale said. “Maybe it isn’t for everyone else to understand. But you must know why you married Merle—even if they don’t understand.”

“My sister would tell you what my parents taught her. It’s because I fucked up. Like an idiot, I got pregnant,” Andrea said. Dale hummed at her in question. “Barely, I guess,” she said in response to a question that hadn’t been asked. “If that’s how it works. As soon as…I knew about it, I told Merle and…we got married right away. Then it just wasn’t there anymore.” 

“My wife I wanted children,” Dale said. “We tried and, once, we thought it might happen. Things just didn’t work out, though. Like you said.” 

“Merle and I have tried again a few times, but every time I’ve ended up putting the brakes on things as soon as he falls off the wagon,” Andrea said. “I might have actually said ‘I do’ to Merle, that time, because the tests came out positive, but I was with Merle before that, if you know what I mean.” 

“I believe I understand,” Dale offered. 

“It was a catalyst for the marriage, but…I was with him before that. I would’ve been with him in spite of that, even if it might have taken him longer to change my name. Merle’s an asshole. He always has been. If you get to know him, though—and I mean really get to know him—you realize it’s something like a coping mechanism. The addiction changes Merle, when he’s on something, but he’s an asshole even when he’s clean. Still—there’s more to him than that.” 

“We are all greater than the sum of our parts,” Dale mused. “I believe it was Aristotle that had something to say about that.” 

Andrea smiled to herself. 

“I couldn’t say it better,” she said. 

1111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

“What if we send another group down there to rescue the group that’s already left and they get caught up in whatever it is that’s detained the first group?” Shane mused.

The conversation they were having, as a group, was civilized and calm at this point. None of them were sure, though, what was the best way to proceed with things. Daryl had already offered his services to the group in whatever way they could be used—though mostly, Carol knew, he’d meant that he was willing to go down with a group and see if they could find the others. He’d excused himself from the rest of the discussion to go hunting. At the end of it all, Daryl figured that they were going to decide whatever they were going to decide—and mostly that was going to mean whatever Shane was going to decide—and his input would mean very little. Carol knew, too, that Daryl would likely have his own ideas of what he wanted to do, himself, once they’d waited a fair amount of time to see if the other group would return. He likely needed time to think about his plan. Daryl was a man who often required time to simply sit, quietly, and work out whatever problem he was dealing with before he was ready to handle it in what he believed was the best possible way.

Hunting left Daryl relatively close by, but it would give him time to figure things out for himself. 

They were expanding their runs into Atlanta and, eventually, the surrounding area for more supplies. They were taking bigger chances for bigger rewards. That had been the idea. The group that left out with the sunrise was the largest group that had ever gone, at once, on a run. Glenn, T-Dog, Merle, Morales, and Jacqui made up the run group. They’d enter the city and hit some high spots that had already been scoped out by Glenn—since he seemed to have a real talent for getting in and out of the city without attracting the attention of the Walkers—and they’d get as much as they could carry. The truck they’d driven would be parked outside of the city. Merle had taught Glenn to hotwire vehicles using his old truck, and Glenn had used the skill to snag a truck that they could use on his last run. That way, if it had to be abandoned, or they had to come back some way that they hadn’t gone, it wouldn’t be any great loss to anyone.

The group went down to get everything they could—food, clothing, and a variety of other “wish list” items to make their camp and lives better. 

They’d radioed in, at one point, to say that there was trouble. The radio connection was terrible. They expected more of their radios than they were really able to provide. Nobody had really understood the whole of the message, but what they did get was cryptic and made nearly everyone sick to think of what might have happened—what might even be happening at this moment.

All they’d heard was that they were surrounded. Trapped. 

Atlanta was full of the dead. Walkers wandered in masses in the streets. Carol hadn’t seen it for herself, but she’d heard the descriptions. Glenn said they wandered like ants, but aimlessly—until something got their attention. Evidently, if they’d heard the cryptic message correctly, something had gotten the attention of the Walkers. 

“We can’t just abandon them,” Miranda said. “My husband’s down there.” 

“Believe me,” Shane said, “I don’t want to abandon anybody. There are already too few of us. We need everybody we’ve got here. And I’m open to any suggestions you’ve got, but I just don’t think we ought to do anything until we’ve got a plan that isn’t going to cost us five more people. Eventually we’ll be down to just leaving you three women and your children. And that won’t be good for anyone.” 

“When Daryl comes back,” Carol said. “He’ll have a plan. He’ll know what to do.”

Shane laughed to himself and scratched his fingers through his hair nervously.

“I’m glad you’re so confident in Daryl, Carol,” Shane offered, “but I’d feel a lot better if we had something of a plan right now. We’ve either got to act quickly or we don’t act at all.” 

“Once the daylight runs out,” Jim said, “they might be out of time.” 

“It’s not even noon,” Carol said. “And the sun won’t set until at least eight. We’ve got time to get down there and get them out.” 

“How do you know that?” Lori asked.

Carol swallowed back her laughter. 

“Because I can look at the sun,” Carol said. “And I know what time the sun sets this time of year.”

“We don’t even know where they were going,” Lori said. “They could be anywhere. We never would have found them in Atlanta before all of this. Now with the Walkers…”

“We do have some idea of the places they were planning to go,” Jim said. 

“What is that sound?” Carol asked. “I’m sorry—Jim. What is that sound?” 

“I don’t hear anything,” Lori said. 

“I do!” Miranda said quickly. 

“I hear it, too,” Shane said. He broke away from their group and walked in one direction and then another, clearly trying to pinpoint the location of the sound. 

“It sounds like it’s coming from everywhere,” Carol said. “Is that—a siren? An alarm?”

“A siren? Who would have a siren?” Lori asked. 

“Do you think it’s the government?” Amy asked. Carol reached for the girl to put her hands on her shoulders and ground her before she could get too out of hand. She could hear the panic in her voice. After what had happened in Atlanta, the government didn’t exactly bring them all the promise of good things.

“We see something!” Dale shouted from on top of the RV. He had a pair of binoculars. Andrea was standing next to him. The whole of their group rushed toward the RV like they’d somehow be able to see what Dale could see.

“Is it them?” Shane called up.

“Is it the government?” Amy yelled up. 

“The government would come in a helicopter, sweetheart,” Carol said. “Or a plane. Like in Atlanta.”

“It’s a car,” Dale said. “Headed this way. I just saw it in a turn a few miles from here. Red. Never seen it before, but if I’m right, the sound is a car alarm.” 

“You think it’s them?” Shane asked again.

“Oh yeah—at least—some of them,” Dale said. “They’re moving fast. They know where they’re going. They’ve been here before. A lot.” 

“Then it’s either Merle or Glenn,” Carol said.

She saw Andrea do something of a hop that she was probably not aware that she’d done. Andrea immediately moved toward the ladder to climb down. 

“There’s a van,” Dale said. “I see it, now. It’s behind the car—not too far. It’s coming. It’s gotta be them.” 

Andrea hit the ground, all smiles, and immediately came to join the rest of them. They all waited, watching the main entrance they’d created to the camp, until the red car came speeding up and practically slid to a stop. Dale was down off the RV and almost at the car by the time it stopped. Shane just beat him there, moving fast enough to find the wires and snatch them loose, disabling the car alarm that had announced the car’s approach, as Dale approached.

Glenn climbed out of the red car, wild-eyed and looking very much like the young man he was.

“Are you insane?!” Shane spat. “You probably brought every Walker from Atlanta straight to our front door!” 

“I wouldn’t worry about it too much,” Dale offered quickly, stepping in to save Glenn like he might have done if he’d been his son. “That sound was echoing all around these hills. It would’ve been impossible to pinpoint, even for the living. We’re probably safe.” 

“All the same,” Shane said, “we ought to keep an extra watch out for a while.” 

Before they could discuss it too much more, the white van that Dale had mentioned came pulling up. Morales opened the driver’s side door, and got out. His feet had no sooner hit the ground than Miranda was in his arms and Eliza and Louis were running for him. From the back, the doors of the van opened. One by one, familiar faces spilled out as Jacqui rounded the corner and, a moment later, T-Dog appeared behind her. Everyone greeted them warmly, even though they had no direct family to speak of. The sound of another pair of shoes on the hard dirt made Andrea tense. Carol saw her, out of the corner of her eye, poised to run to Merle when he came around the side of the van—even though he would say it was embarrassing that she was drooling all over him, or something equally ridiculous. When the man came around the side of the van, though, it wasn’t Merle. It was a man that none of them had ever seen before. They didn’t know him.

At least—most of them didn’t know him. Carol saw when he made eye contact with Lori. Suddenly, Carl ran toward the man, yelling out “Dad.” Carol was intrigued, but her intrigue was cut short when Andrea, almost walking toward the back of the van like one of the Walkers, reached the back of it. 

The sound of Andrea’s blood-curdling cry—a sound that was unlike any word from any human language— made Carol rush to her, and she reached her in time to wrap her arms around her and keep her from hitting the ground. Carol didn’t even have to look at the empty van for herself to know exactly what Andrea already knew.

They didn’t all make it back. Merle hadn’t made it back.


	13. Chapter 13

AN: Here we are, another chapter here.

I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! 

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Carol held onto Andrea as the woman dealt with the initial wave of shock that threatened, first, to take her off of her feet and, secondly, to send her retching a few feet away. Carol followed after her, offering a comforting hand on her back as she emptied her stomach of the remainders of her last meal and the water that she’d consumed in the meantime.

“What happened?” Carol asked, putting the words out there for Andrea who, at the moment, wasn’t in any condition to ask them. “Was it—Walkers?” 

“He’s dead,” Andrea said, spitting for the final time and standing to wipe her arm across her mouth in the absence of anything else that she could use to clean herself. “Oh my God! He’s dead!” 

Carol didn’t fault the woman at all for the clear case of shock that was keeping her from digesting information smoothy and easily. Instead, she kept an arm on Andrea’s shoulder to ground her. 

“He’s not dead,” Jacqui said quickly, stepping toward them but still keeping her distance. She held up her hands in a show of false surrender.

“He’s not dead?” Andrea asked, every bit as confused as Carol felt. 

“Where is he?” Carol asked.

“Look,” T-Dog blurted quickly, “it was an accident. I swear it! I didn’t mean to drop the key and then—they were ready to go. We had to get out of there fast before they closed in on us. There wasn’t time to figure out what to do. I swear—it was an accident.” 

T-Dog’s tone made it clear that he was being sincere, but Carol wasn’t sure exactly what he was being sincere about. Andrea, beside her, wasn’t sure either. Carol tightened her fingers on her sister-in-law’s shoulder.

“What was an accident?” Carol asked. “T? What happened?” 

“He didn’t do it,” Jacqui said, practically putting her body between the spots where T-Dog and Carol and Andrea stood. “It wasn’t his fault. It was just an accident.” 

“Where’s my husband?” Andrea asked. Carol heard her breath start to rasp as panic rose. 

Dale and Amy came quickly, with Sophia just behind them, starting to close in. Carol held a hand out in Dale’s direction and he wrapped Amy in his arms to keep her from coming any closer, and he hugged Sophia to him with the other arm. 

“Where’s Merle?” Andrea asked, loudly and a little more hysterically. “Where’s my husband?”

“You gotta calm down, OK?” T-Dog said, holding his hands out toward Andrea as a sign of surrender and peace. “You gotta calm down and—we can talk about this.”

“Where’s Merle!” Andrea barked back, desperately. Her voice rang in Carol’s ears and Carol winced at the sound.

The new person that had arrived and garnered some interest from Lori and her family, stepped forward. He was wearing a police uniform, complete with badge. Carol recognized, immediately, the way that he carried himself as that of a police officer. She’d had quite a bit of dealings with them, after all, as a long-term abused wife. Their help had been limited, really, but they’d always approached her the same way, promising what they never delivered.

Life as a Dixon, too, meant that there had been more than one time that a police offer had shown up to her door—usually at some ungodly hour—often looking for Merle or reporting something about the man when Andrea couldn’t be easily located.

The man approached Andrea like someone about to try to tackle a wild animal. Andrea turned her body, keeping herself squared with the police officer.

“Where’s my husband?” She asked, one more time. This time, her voice cracked slightly and a keening sound broke through at the end.

“I can explain what happened,” the man said. “My name is Rick.”

“I don’t give a shit who you are!” Andrea snarled. “Where’s Merle?” 

Rick nodded his head, slowly and calmly. 

“He was out of control,” Rick said. “He was—argumentative. Confrontational. He was insulting people and threatening them.” 

“Was it drugs?” Carol asked quickly.

“It may have been,” Rick said.

“It was something, maybe,” Jacqui offered softly from where she was standing with T-Dog. “But it wasn’t as bad as it has been.” 

“Where is he?” Andrea asked, bouncing on the balls of her feet. She appeared, to Carol, to be much like a child that was minutes from having some sort of tantrum. 

“I needed to keep him under control,” Rick said. “Safe. For me. For everyone. For him, even. I—subdued him. Handcuffed him to a pipe on the roof of the department store.” 

“Why isn’t he here?” Andrea asked. “Why—where? Please?” 

“Andrea?” Daryl called out, drawing everyone’s attention in his direction. “What the hell is goin’ on? I heard Andrea—cryin’. Is it Merle? What the fuck happened?” 

Daryl came crashing out of the woods very much like a Walker himself. He was moving as quickly as he could under the burden of the deer that he carried across his shoulders. The animal easily weighed a hundred and forty pounds if it weighed anything at all. Daryl shucked it off as soon as he was in the clearing of the camp, and he let the animal fall to the ground before he double-timed his steps in the direction of the gathered group.

“She OK?” He asked, immediately stepping into Carol’s line of sight. 

“She’s fine,” Carol assured him, her heart squeezing at the simultaneous appreciation of how much Daryl loved his family—all of it—and the concern over how he was going to take the next bit of information. 

“Merle…” Andrea said, her breath catching.

“Where is he?” Daryl asked, his voice rising at the end. “He dead?” Carol was already shaking her head.

“Rick was just explaining that—Merle had some kind of fit,” Carol said.

“The hell do you mean ‘fit’?” Daryl asked, directing his question at Rick.

“Could’ve been drugs,” Rick said. “Look—he was irrationally angry. Argumentative.”

“Rick showed up shooting at Walkers,” Glenn said quickly. Carol could hear the tremor in the young man’s voice as he anticipated that there might be trouble. He hated conflict of any kind. He was a natural born lover of peace and tranquility—something that was hard to come by these days. “He got himself stuck in a tank. I saved him. Got him out of trouble. But it stirred the Walkers up.”

“That’s what we were trying to radio to tell you all,” Jacqui said. “They surrounded the department store. We thought we weren’t going to get out.”

“We had to go through a whole thing to even get out of there alive,” T-Dog said.

“When I got up on the roof,” Rick said, “Merle was having a fit. He was yelling. Threatening. He threatened me. He wouldn’t be calmed down by anybody.” 

“Sounds to me like he had a fuckin’ right!” Daryl barked. “Sounds like you damn near got everybody killed! Where the hell is he?” 

“I subdued him,” Rick said. 

“The hell does that mean, exactly?” Daryl asked. “Where the hell is my brother?” 

“Daryl,” Carol said, trying to ground him from a distance while keeping her hand on Andrea’s shoulder to ground her. The noises that she was making suggested that breathing wasn’t coming as easily for her as it once had.

“He knocked him down,” Glenn said. “To keep him from fighting with anyone. You know how Merle can be when he gets wound up. He was ready to fight with everyone. He knocked him down with the butt of the gun. Handcuffed him to the roof. It was just supposed to be until he calmed down.” 

“Is he calm now?” Daryl asked. “Where the fuckin’ hell is my brother! Did you kill him?” 

“He’s fine,” Rick said. “I left the key with T-Dog. It got lost. He dropped it.” 

“Dropped it? Why the hell didn’t you pick it the fuck up?” Daryl asked.

“It was an accident,” T-Dog responded. “I mean it. I didn’t mean to drop it. It went down a pipe. I couldn’t reach it.” 

“We had to go. The—Walkers. They were everywhere. We couldn’t wait.” 

“You son of a bitch!” Andrea barked. Carol felt as she pulled loose from her fingers and flung her body at Rick. She surprised him, and her full weight took them both to the ground. In a move that was faster than Carol might have predicted she’d be able to pull off, Andrea had drawn the gun from her holster that she was wearing at her hip. She’d worn the pistol for most of the day, choosing to keep it near her for a feeling of security while Merle was away from the camp.

Now she pointed the gun at Rick’s head as she rested her full body weight on top of him. 

Everyone started to close in a little, surprised. 

“We oughta kill you!” Andrea growled at Rick. “Because of you—I lost my husband!”

Rick hadn’t fought against Andrea. He laid on the ground, her body on top of his, with his hands up in surrender. He didn’t have to stay there long, though, because the final words out of her mouth took Andrea’s resolve. She half collapsed, and Daryl stepped forward and gathered her up. He took the pistol from her hand as he pulled her to her feet.

“Take the safety off next time,” he said, quickly showing Andrea what he meant before he returned the gun to her holster for her.

Rick got up when a hand was offered to him by Shane. Rick nodded his head at Shane, and then at Daryl. He looked at all of them, his eyes darting quickly around. He was prepared for another attack. 

“Let me get this straight,” Daryl said, speaking to Rick as he let go of Andrea and pushed her in the direction of Dale, Sophia, and Amy. “Just—let me fuckin’ process this. You handcuffed my brother to a roof?” 

“He was out of control,” Rick said. 

“And you left him there?” Daryl asked.

“There was nothing we could do,” Rick said.

“Son of a bitch!” Daryl cried; his battle cry was the same as Andrea’s. This time, when he threw himself at Rick, Rick was prepared and he met Daryl instead of being knocked down by him. He tried to block him, but Daryl’s adrenaline, or simply his strength, kept Rick from successfully stopping him. Shane stepped in and, catching Daryl in a choke hold, pulled him backward. “Let me go!” Daryl growled. “Get offa me! Choke hold’s illegal, asshole!” 

Shane did let Daryl go, but only after he seemed sure that Daryl had a moment to calm down. He let go of his throat, but he kept his hands on Daryl’s shoulders to make sure that he didn’t launch himself at Rick again.

“There was nothing we could do!” Rick said, this time loudly and more forcefully. “We had to get the group out of there. The whole group. Before everyone got surrounded again and everyone was lost. Your brother—Merle—made his choice when he was out of line!” 

“Man—fuck you!” Daryl spat. “Just—tell me where the hell he is. So I can go get him.” 

“I’ll go with you,” Rick said. “I didn’t mean for this to happen. I handcuffed him. I’ll go with you to get him.”

“We’ll go with you,” Glenn said.

“I’ll go, too,” T-Dog offered. “I dropped the key. That was on me. Man—I swear I didn’t mean to drop it. I locked the door, though. On my way off the roof. I locked it and chained it with the chains that were up there. Padlocked it. Even if the Walkers got into the department store, they couldn’t get to him.”

“He’s alive and he’s safe,” Rick said.

“And it’s a couple hours round fuckin’ trip!” Daryl spat. “And he’s handcuffed to a fuckin’ roof in the Georgia sun, you asshole!” 

“We can go get him,” Rick said. “We’ll need bolt cutters—something to cut through the chains.”

“With just the four of us, it’ll be quick in and out to get him,” Glenn said. 

Andrea had practically wrapped herself around Amy, at this point, and she was caressing her little sister’s hair in a way that was probably more soothing for Andrea than it was for Amy.

“Daryl…” she said, as soon as he stepped in front of her. The one word, along with her tone of voice, said everything she wished to convey to him. 

“I’ma get him,” Daryl said. “Bring him back.”

“So, everyone just goes out there again?” Lori barked quickly. “Leaves the camp half guarded and goes back out there where—you tell us you hardly escaped? What about when it gets dark?” 

“We’ll be back before then,” Glenn said.

“Especially if we get the fuckin’ lead out!” Daryl barked. “Get the damn tools and let’s go! He don’t need to be exposed on that roof no damn longer’n he has to be. Sun like that’ll make him go fuckin’ mad!”

Lori launched herself at Rick, this time, and started demanding that he not go. Daryl ignored her pleas to Rick and walked off, gathering up tools with T-Dog from the nearby area where they stored their things. He threw the tools in the back of the van that they would take back to Atlanta, and then he walked over and kissed Carol with a great deal of intensity—she could practically feel all of his emotions buzzing around in his body.

“You take care,” he said. “Be careful an’ watch out for Sophia. Keep Andrea from losin’ her damn mind, if you can.” 

Carol smiled at him.

“You don’t worry about things here,” she offered. “You just worry about making it back to me, OK?” 

Daryl nodded. 

“Love you,” he said. 

“Love you,” Carol echoed. She gave him another smile. That was the only way she wanted to send him off—with a smile. She walked the long way around the group and pulled Sophia into her, tugging her away from Dale who had dropped a protective arm over the girl when he’d released Amy to her sister’s caresses. 

“No, he’s not going,” Lori said as Daryl walked toward where she was standing with Rick. Daryl smirked at her. 

“Oh—he’s fuckin’ goin’,” Daryl said. “This was his whole fucked up plan in the first place, Princess. Only fuckin’ fair he sees it through to the end.” 

Rick accepted Daryl’s words with a nod, and he kissed Lori goodbye. Carol watched, with the rest of them, as they loaded up the van and left—headed back the way they’d come. She didn’t miss the absolute look of bitter anger that Lori tossed at her and Andrea both—and she didn’t really care.

The only thing she cared about was keeping her family members safe, and seeing that van return, hopefully soon, with the rest of them.


	14. Chapter 14

AN: Hi there! Here’s another chapter.

I should note that, due to the nature of this story and my plans for how I wanted things to go, there are going to be a few chapters that are sort of “out of order” throughout the entirety of the story because of different perspectives. I wanted this story to be a Dixon story, and that includes *ALL* the Dixons for the ways they all tie in with each other.

I’m going to tell you, ahead of time, that this is unique/singular kind of chapter. You’ll understand more of what I mean when you read it. It’s written this particular way for this very specific situation. 

I do hope you enjoy the chapter. There’s more on all of this at the end. Let me know what you think!

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His head swam with the inability to process everything that he was thinking and feeling at the same time.

He almost didn’t feel the pain anymore. It was beyond him—on another plane entirely.

In the beginning, the pain had made him think that he wouldn’t survive. He couldn’t live through it. He’d never keep consciousness—and he couldn’t lose consciousness, not with the Walkers grabbing for him at every turn. 

He’d lived through enough pain, though, that he couldn’t be killed by it anymore—that must have been what it was. He had barely stopped hurting since the day he was born. There were very few things that could stop the hurt—the drugs, the drink…Andrea. Even those things couldn’t keep it away forever. They couldn’t heal him. It was impossible to heal what had been damaged beyond repair.

But the pain couldn’t kill him.

Heat. Thirst. His tongue felt swollen. His throat was raw. He was baking alive. Like being trapped in an oven. He would bake until there was nothing left of him. Ash. He’d be a pile of ash on the roof. Burned away to nothing.

At least, as ash, he’d be free. He’d be free from everything. He’d drift away on the breeze. If there were any breeze. There wasn’t any breeze. A breeze might cool the heat and slow the baking.

They were coming for him. 

The rattling chains told him death was coming for him. Horrible. Brutal. Death. He couldn’t outrun them. He was anchored in place. Baking in the sun until he became ash.

The thirst would kill him before death got to him to tear away his flesh.

It had finally happened. They’d told him it would. He’d finally fucked up his life so completely that there was no return. He’d sworn, a thousand times, that he would get his life together—he would make amends—and he’d never be the fucked-up asshole he was again. He’d promised that he would change. But change was harder than he’d ever imagined—so, so fucking hard. He failed at it every time.

What he’d taken hadn’t filled his palm. It was weak. It was no damn good. Trash. He’d meant to throw it out. He’d meant to keep a promise—so many promises he’d broken. The little bag had been in his pocket. He hadn’t remembered putting it there. He didn’t know where it came from. He’d put it there a thousand years ago—or something like that. He never meant to take it.

He never fucking meant to take it—not once in the last…so many years. He maybe meant to take it. Maybe just enough for the peace. For a moment of peace. He just wanted to hear the quiet in his head. 

He hadn’t heard any quiet. He didn’t hear the quiet now. He heard everything except that. The rattling of chains. The screaming voices of everyone he loved as they learned he’d broken the promises he’d really meant to keep this time. They trusted him to keep a promise and he burned them—like the lighter burning the few fucking crystals that he’d never remembered were stuck down in his pocket.

He hurt everyone around him. Burned them. Again, and again. Like the sun was burning him—away to ashes.

He cried out to the same God he’d been crying out to for years—decades—maybe even centuries. He wasn’t sure that time existed anymore. When you were burning away to ash and death was rattling its chains, time didn’t matter.

God’s only response came in the form of a saw that he could reach when he nearly tore his arm right out of his shoulder socket—like the Mouse’s shoulder had been torn out by the asshole he’d buried ass up. That was always the way for Merle. The responses he got almost always seem to come in some terrible form—never the delicate wash of cool, cleansing water and peace that some people claimed they got when they cried out for help. Maybe that’s why the hell he didn’t ask for help so often as others. If they knew what the hell it was to have to do everything for themselves…

That wasn’t true.

She helped him. She helped him. She was warm, and soft, and comfortable—not like the heat that was burning him to ash. She said she needed him, so it was OK that he needed her, too. 

He had to find her. He had to find her before he burned away to ash and death tore his flesh apart.

The saw was freedom. It wouldn’t cut the pipe. It was too dull when he tried. Wouldn’t cut the chain of the handcuffs—who was that asshole to become Merle’s judge, jury, and executioner? Merle would kill him. Bury his ass face down so when he came back—if he came back—he’d dig to fucking China. That’s what the hell he would do.

The blade bit through flesh. It carved through bone—grained, unlike the steel, for the teeth to make purchase.

The thirsty hot roof drank up his blood. It was as hot and thirsty as he was. 

The peace came with the dizziness. Swimming peace. A high. The lowest he’d ever been to feel this high.

What the hell would he need hands for anyway, when the dead tore his flesh off and consumed him? Sent him to hell where he was probably headed anyway. Fuck them all. Fuck that man in particular. He had no right to judge Merle. He had no right to execute him. 

When he found her again, it would be better. He would be better. He’d never been whole before. He’d come to her with most his fucking pieces missing—all the important ones. The ones on the inside. She hadn’t cared. She’d put her pieces in their places. Tried to make him whole. She wouldn’t miss his hand. He would learn to use the other so she didn’t miss it.

Use the other. For lighting the gas stove. For burning the metal. For searing the flesh. It was hot. Hotter than his brain. Hotter than his throat—raw and dry. He was so fucking thirsty. It burned him away to ash.

The fire axe was heavier than anything he’d ever carried before. It weighed as much as a person. His feet were heavy. His head was heavy. He was thankful that his brain was light. It was the lightest thing about him. He could feel it swimming around in his head when he turned—moved in any direction.

He wasn’t baking on the roof, but he was still baking. Inside he was baking. Bubbling. Boiling. He could feel the baking. The burning. The ground beneath his feet burned. The air around him was hot and heavy. 

He’d never seen this place before. He’d never been here before. He was sure of it. He didn’t know where he was, and he couldn’t quite remember how he’d gotten there. 

Daryl was somewhere. He was in trouble. He was just a kid and sometimes he got into trouble. He did stupid things because he was a kid. He needed Merle to dust his ass off. He needed Merle to patch the boo boos that were never so bad if they were covered, where he couldn’t see them. His arm was wrapped with the cloth so he couldn’t see it. The missing hand—he’d never been fucking whole any way. He’d always been broken. He could see it now—blood soaked through the cloth. The burn—where he’d burned himself away before they could; before anything could. Daryl was lost. Merle couldn’t find him. He’d gotten lost before. Gone for days. He was always OK. He could survive. At least he knew that now. At least Merle knew that. He was always angry at Merle because he’d cried for him, but Merle hadn’t found him—couldn’t find him because they’d locked him away. They’d sentenced him to be shut away to protect—who? The world? Protect the world from Merle, and Daryl had been lost with nobody to find him.

It was Merle that was lost. He’d never been here before. It was hell. He’d finally made it. The whole world had told him that’s where he’d be one day and he was there now. He walked through hell—wandered through it. It wasn’t a very nice place, but hell wasn’t supposed to be, was it? The axe was heavy. It was the heaviest axe that Merle had ever felt. Maybe that was his punishment for every damn thing he’d done wrong in life. He used the axe, though, to cut his way through the fiends that were sent his way. Some damn where, at the end of this labyrinth he’d find the devil himself.

The devil couldn’t have him. He’d fight him, too. Kill him. Bury him face down like the asshole that broke that poor little woman—shattered her so she couldn’t ever be whole. Bury him like the asshole that had sent Merle here to hell. Where did the devil dig when he was face down in a hole in hell?

“Andrea!” Merle cried out. Her name burned in his throat like hot ash. The sound of her name made him sad. It made his heart heavy—the heaviest thing about him. “Andrea!” She was lost. She’d been right there. She was afraid. Scared of hell, maybe. He’d brought her here. She was an angel—she’d never been meant for hell, but he’d dragged her down with him. Told her not to be afraid, but she was lost now. Maybe she’d been afraid of the fiends that were going to tear his flesh off—her flesh. He could handle the axe, though, no matter how fucking heavy it was. He could cut them away. It didn’t matter if he stumbled over them because he’d cut them down and he could get back up. 

He was good at stumbling and getting back up. He’d spent most of his life doing it. 

But she was always with him. And now he’d lost her. She was afraid, and he’d been holding her hand. He was fucking sure of it. He’d been holding her hand. When he closed his eyes—it felt so good to close his eyes—he could see her. She could still smile at him, even though he’d hurt her. He was sorry. She said she hated the drugs—all of them—because they would take him away. He’d lost her, somewhere. Strange, because he could still feel her hand in his. He could feel her fingers. She squeezed his hand back. 

He’d been holding her hand to keep her safe, but the hand was gone and she was gone with it.

“Andrea!” He called out. His voice barked. She wouldn’t recognize her own name. He was so damn thirsty and the ground baked him from his feet up while the sky baked him from his head down.

He had to find her. He promised never to let go of her. He’d cut off his hand, though, and he’d cut her loose. But he had another hand—and he’d let go of the axe. If that’s what he had to do, he’d let go of the axe to hold her hand.

Maybe she was in there—that building. That one right there. It was dark and cool—he was sure. The fiends might not come in there. She might be waiting for him there. She’d be afraid, but he would say he was sorry. He was sorry. He would never touch the drugs again—not if she would put her hand in his and make him feel whole again. It was dark, and cool.

He was surprised when the ground hit his face like it did, and suddenly he wasn’t up anymore. It was too hard to get up alone. It had always been too hard to get up alone. He didn’t want to need a fucking soul to help him, but he always had, and he hated that. He hated that it was too damn hard to get up, and so he just stayed down until they came to help him.

At least it was cool. It was cooler than before. He closed his eyes. His mind was swimming, but at least it was quiet.

Until it wasn’t quiet. They were there. They were talking. He could hear them, but he couldn’t understand them. He couldn’t reach them. They were there, but not where he was.

“Andrea,” he said, to get her attention. To call her to him. To remind her that he needed help and any minute now she’d be dragging him into her car with their help—someone he didn’t know. He could hear them talking. Merle smiled to himself. Any minute now she’d be scolding him. Driving him home. Telling him she hated the drugs because they would take him away, but she loved him. “I love you.” 

“I hardly know you.” 

Who was it? They were helping him. He was moving. Rocking. Swaying. Being carried. They were carrying him to the car. He’d fallen down again. She was close. He could smell her.

“Andrea…” He opened his eyes. Remembered he was in hell. That was the last place he’d been. He started, doing his best to rise—wondering where he was when they moved him inside of something. An ambulance? A van? 

“Be still,” a man said, pushing down on Merle’s chest. “We’ll get you some help.”

Nobody had ever been able to help him—not enough. If they had, he never would have gotten all the way to hell. He would go back—all the way to the morning when she made love to him before the sun came up. He would throw the packet away when he found it in his pocket—he knew, now, that he didn’t need it, not like he needed her. He never would have met his judge, and he never would have burned away to nothing. 

He would have been there to find Daryl, and he never would have lost Andrea down in hell.

“Andrea,” Merle said. 

“What about Andrea?” The man asked.

“Lost,” Merle said. “I lost her—in hell. Gotta let me go. Find her.” 

The man patted his chest. He put something over Merle’s face. A mask? A rag? Merle couldn’t breathe like he had before. He started to panic. He jerked against it. 

“It’s OK,” the man said. “We got her. She’s here.” 

Merle smiled to himself. Accepted that he couldn’t breathe and floated into it. He didn’t have to fight anymore. As soon as he closed his eyes, he saw her there—smiling at him. And he didn’t care, really, whether it meant living or dying, because he was going with her.

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AN: I know that some of you had some ideas about how you wanted this story to go. I’m sorry, but I have to write what I intended it to be. Otherwise, I’ll just want to write *another* story that will be the version I wanted in the first place. I apologize if that wrecks things for you.

I will let you know that in my story “Patchwork,” there’s no handcuffing of Merle to the roof, so you might enjoy that. It’s an entirely different take on things. 

Again, I apologize to those of you who are disappointed, but I have to go where I intended to go with things.


	15. Chapter 15

AN: Here we are, another chapter here. There’s, of course, tons to go here, and we’ll have lots of “ups and downs” to work through.

I hope you enjoy the chapter! Let me know what you think! 

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“Where did he get them? Where did he get the fucking drugs! You were supposed to get rid of them, asshole!” Andrea yelled as she launched herself at Shane.

Carol couldn’t imagine, and she didn’t want to imagine, how she might feel if she were in Andrea’s shoes. The small group had just gotten back, reporting that they’d searched Atlanta for Merle until the trail ran absolutely dry—not that there’d been much of a trail to follow thanks to the fact that he’d wandered off into a concrete jungle which allowed very little in the way of tracking.

Merle had freed himself from the handcuffs by using a hacksaw to remove his right hand just above the wrist. From what they could tell, he’d cauterized the wound, and he’d left the building. From there, it was truly anyone’s guess where he’d gone or what had happened to him. There was no way of knowing. They’d searched the surrounding area to some degree, but the city was crawling with Walkers and looking for one person was like looking for a needle in a haystack. 

They could sit and speculate for hours at the time over what had made Merle make the decision that cutting off his hand was better than remaining where he was, waiting for some kind of rescue that, perhaps, he believed was never coming, but it didn’t matter. At the end of the day, all that mattered was that Merle was gone, and none of the Dixons knew if he was alive or dead, though they naturally feared the worst.

Standing back from it all, and keeping some distance because there were already enough people crowded around as the whole camp tried to close in on one space to be involved, Carol watched the whole thing with the kind of stomach ache that came from wanting peace, but knowing that it simply couldn’t be found at the moment. This was just something that was going to have to pass. It would heal, as they all healed, with time.

Maybe Andrea should have kept her cool a little better, honestly, but Carol couldn’t guarantee that she—or anyone else—would be better behaved in Andrea’s shoes.

Shane blocked Andrea’s physical attack, his arm coming up and across his chest to create a physical barrier that kept her from slamming into him. He didn’t have time to respond to her in any other way before Rick—the man that, Carol had learned, was Lori’s husband whom she’d apparently believed to be dead—grabbed Andrea’s shoulder to physically draw her attention to him.

“You’ve got to calm down! This wasn’t Shane’s fault,” Rick said.

“It was your fault, you asshole!” Andrea yelled. Rick had gotten her attention, but he may have gotten more of it than he wanted. In a clearly desperate act to do something, Andrea threw herself at Rick. “You did this!” 

Rick’s blocking of Andrea was quite different than Shane’s had been. Instead of blocking her, he shoved her backward. She stepped backward, trying to catch herself, before she hit the ground hard. He quickly came to stand over her, demanding that she stay down. He was met by Daryl who was only slightly more in control of his emotions than Andrea, clearly having worked some of them out in Atlanta.

“Get the fuck offa her!” Daryl yelled. “Back the fuck offa her! Merle would break your fuckin’ neck if he saw what the hell you just done!” 

“She can’t be attacking people! We don’t need this kind of violence around here!” Rick barked in Daryl’s face.

“You gonna handcuff her to a roof, too, Rick?” Daryl asked. Then Carol heard her husband yell something about violence and Rick murdering his brother, the words almost too difficult to understand through Daryl’s anger and frustration, before any kind of calmness that had existed in the little camp shattered into a noisy din of confusion where everyone was yelling at everyone else about something. Carol had already tucked the children—all of them—away in the RV with Amy, and she’d made them promise to stay there. She was glad, now, that she had. She didn’t want them to see everyone fighting with everyone else. Some of the people, she felt certain, didn’t even know why they were arguing or with whom they were actually arguing. 

This was, perhaps, a release of pressure that had been building up too long.

Luckily, when Daryl physically went for Rick, Shane stepped between the two and split them up quickly. He shoved Rick in one direction, and Daryl in the other, but the brief time apart calmed the men down enough to stop the physical fight from blossoming into its full possibility. 

“Break it up! Stop it! Every damn one of you!” Shane yelled out in frustration as he’d shoved the two men apart.

Then he’d made his way over to where Andrea, swinging at anyone who got near her in grief and frustration, was still sitting on the ground. He heaved her to her feet, allowing her to fight against him and even land a few punches, and he hugged her to him. Carol was more than aware that the hug was less for true comfort and more for knowing that holding her still and controlled, in such a way, would help to calm her down even if she didn’t want to be calmed.

“I don’t know where Merle got the drugs,” Shane said, controlling his voice to try to be at least somewhat soothing. “I don’t know. They’re hidden. I hid them. I hid them just like I said I would. I’m not even telling you where, just in case somebody around here decides they want some kind of escape from reality. I don’t know where he got them, but it wasn’t me.” 

“He probably had another stash,” Rick said. He held his hands up, quickly, in Daryl’s direction when Daryl visibly bristled at the comment. “Addicts tend to have ways of getting what they want. That’s all I’m saying.” 

Shane’s bear hold had the desired effect of calming Andrea down. As she calmed, Dale broke into the space and reached his arms out, taking Andrea away from Shane and pulling her into a hug that was meant to comfort rather than to simply restrain her. 

“Where he had them hidden or—where he found them—or how he got them,” Dale said, “whatever the case may be, it hardly seems to matter now.” 

“Yeah—what the hell matters is that my fuckin’ brother got handcuffed to a roof until he cut his damn hand off an’ went off on his own to try to save himself,” Daryl pointed out.

“It’s unfortunate what happened, but…” Rick started.

“But it’s your fuckin’ fault!” Daryl snapped back at Rick, before the man could continue.

“He was out of line!” Rick barked back.

“And I already heard everyone else say they seen him worse!” Daryl yelled back.

“So—just because he’s been allowed to be worse that means we ought to tolerate whatever the hell he does to endanger the group?” Rick shouted. 

“Hey! Hey! Let’s not start yelling again! This is getting us no damn where!” Shane interrupted.

“He’s dead,” Andrea said, as calm as she could possibly be at the moment. “He’s dead and you killed him.” There was no question to whom she was directing her comment.

“Look, Andrea,” Shane said, approaching where she was still accepting Dale’s comfort. Shane held his hands up in mock surrender, clearly trying to keep from escalating anything, “we don’t know that he’s dead. OK? We don’t. We don’t know that. Not yet. We don’t even have to assume that at this point. He’s been gone less than twenty-four hours and that makes him still a missing person.”

“He’s missing out there,” Jacqui said. “I’m all for being positive, but at some point, we’ve got to be realistic, too.” 

“Merle’s a survivor,” Daryl said. “If anybody could make it on their own, Merle could.” 

“That’s my point, maybe,” Shane said. “He knows where the camp is. Better than any of us. That’s why he was down there—he’s the best guide we have, right? It isn’t—me getting lost out there where I don’t know how to get back on my own. This is somewhere Merle knows. He’s familiar with it. It’s entirely possible that he finds his way back.” 

“He might come back,” Carol said, finally closing in on the group a little now that everyone seemed to be calming. “He might find his way back.”

“Yeah—if he ain’t dead,” Daryl said.

Carol approached him carefully, just in case. She knew that people did things that were out of the ordinary when they were angry or hurting. Daryl reached for her when he saw her approaching, but when he got his hands on her it was only to pull her to him and hold her close to him. He was sweaty. Dirty. He smelled terrible. And Carol couldn’t be happier than she was in his arms. Her heart was pounding with the work her brain had done. She’d naturally been empathetic to Andrea and, as a result, her body had almost allowed her to feel the anguish that she would surely feel if Daryl hadn’t returned from the trip into Atlanta.

“It’ll be dark soon,” Carol said quietly. Daryl squeezed her in response. He knew what she was saying. Those creatures seemed to thrive in the dark. Daryl and Merle had already figured that, maybe, the dead didn’t need the light to see—maybe they saw equally well, or equally poorly, in daylight as they did in darkness. People were at a disadvantage, though, because they couldn’t see the Walkers in the darkness. 

“It’ll be dark soon,” Dale echoed, with a different tone entirely. “And there’s food prepared. There’s deer and vegetables. Why don’t we all—eat what we can and try to settle down some.” 

Dale turned, guiding Andrea’s body with his own, clearly trying to lead her back toward the area where the food in question was cooling, waiting to be consumed. 

Andrea pulled back, though, and faced Rick. 

“I want you to know that—you’re still responsible for this,” she said, her voice shaking. “And—I’m not going to forget that.” 

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Lori asked, making her way toward Andrea. “It’s not Rick’s fault that your husband was a drug addict!” 

“No,” Andrea said, “you’re right about that. It’s not Rick’s fault that Merle was a drug addict. It’s not Rick’s fault that Merle somehow got ahold of drugs—and I don’t know if that was Merle’s fault or someone else’s. But it’s Rick’s fault that Merle got handcuffed to a roof. It’s Rick’s fault that Merle got left behind—probably thought that nobody was going to come back for him and nobody cared. It’s Rick’s fault that he’s either dead or he’s out there, somewhere, hurt—with his hand cut off…alone…and…”

Andrea broke off. Her voice finally broke. Her anger seemed to simply ebb away as her grief took over again.

“He had to be controlled,” Lori said. “Rick did what he had to do. And he doesn’t have to defend himself any longer. Merle was a threat to this camp. He was a threat to everyone. A drug addict is unpredictable, and that’s the last thing we need with everything that’s going on. He was a threat to you, too, if you could see it.” 

“Shut your fuckin’ skinny ass mouth, Olive Oyl!” Daryl spat.

Dale didn’t hesitate to lead Andrea away as quickly as he could, practically dragging her. She’d had all that she needed, and possibly all that she could take, for the moment. When Daryl let go of Carol to deal with some of his emotions, Carol put a little distance between them and watched as Dale took Andrea to the campfire and sat her down before he brought her a bottle of water and set about making a plate for her.

“Don’t you talk to her like that!” Had been Rick’s response to Daryl, and the two had threatened to lock horns again before Shane placed himself in the middle of them.

“This isn’t getting us any fucking where!” He yelled. “What the hell happened out there, maybe it shouldn’t have happened. But it did. And now we have to move forward with what the hell we’ve got. One way or another. We can’t start fighting amongst ourselves.” 

“Not unless they outta line, ain’t that right, Rick? Then you can do whatever the hell you want with ‘em.” 

“T-Dog was supposed to unlock him,” Rick said. “We had to leave to get the rest of the group back safely. I’m not happy about what happened, but I can’t change it. If I could, I would. But I can’t.” 

“Nobody can change anything,” Shane said. “Listen—there’s no good answer to this. Shit happens. Now—we all know Merle had a certain skill for starting things. Daryl—even you can’t deny that.” 

“Don’t mean Rick here had a right to kill him,” Daryl said. “That how they do things in—King County?” 

“Rick did the best he could,” Lori barked. 

“Lori—why don’t you go get something to eat?” Shane asked. “Rick? Let’s just let things cool down here, huh? Everybody get a little distance. Some space. Get some air. Something to eat.”

“You forget who tracked that damn deer?” Daryl asked. “Shot it? Brought it back to this fuckin’ camp that, by the way, we fuckin’ been usin’ for years? You forget who prob’ly prepared that shit? Cooked it? My family. My fuckin’ family! Merle’s family…” 

“Daryl,” Carol said, walking over then and gently resting a hand on his shoulder to ground him. He stood there, breathing heavily through his grief and anger, but he calmed. Slowly she felt his muscles relaxing. “Let’s just—get something to eat? We’ll get some sleep and we’ll talk about it all in the morning. Andrea needs some time, Daryl. You need some time.”

“You do,” Shane said. “Listen to Carol. You need time and you need—to breathe. We’ll keep watch tonight. Maybe Merle makes his way back to the camp. There’s no use in fighting, though. Whatever the hell happens, fighting isn’t going to make it any better.” 

Daryl seemed to accept what Shane was saying. He nodded his head, and he pulled Carol closer to him. Then he looked back at Rick.

“I’m keepin’ my eye on you,” he said to Rick, before walking with Carol back toward the area where people were beginning to serve themselves food to eat from the large amount that had been prepared to keep the meat from going to waste. “Come on,” he said to Carol. “Let’s get Sophia somethin’ to eat an’ check on Andrea.”


	16. Chapter 16

AN: Here we are, another chapter here. 

I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! 

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“I don’t want to ask how you are,” Carol said, “because I know it’s a stupid question. But I don’t know any other way to check on you, and I’m worried about you.” 

They weren’t very far from the others. They were just at one edge of the established camp. Night was wrapping around them quickly. Soon there would be no light beyond that which the moon, stars, and fire provided. At least it was a full moon, so it provided a decent amount of light for the night.

“Ain’t no need to worry about me, woman. I’m just—thinking.” 

“Penny for your thoughts,” Carol offered. She let Daryl have the few ticks of silence that he needed to get around to speaking again.

“I don’t know that he’s alive,” Daryl said. “But—I can’t accept that he’s dead. I ain’t ready for it.”

Carol rested her hand on Daryl’s shoulder for a moment to simply remind him, physically, of what he already knew. She was there. She felt his muscles tense, as she expected, and then relax. She stepped forward, then, and Daryl dropped his arm around her and pulled her close to him in a hug. He kissed her forehead affectionately, and Carol smiled to herself.

“You don’t have to accept something like that,” Carol said. “Not yet. Not you…or Andrea. Like Shane said, Merle’s been gone less than forty-eight hours. That’s still just a missing person.”

Daryl hummed to himself and tightened his hold on Carol, pulling her into a hug again. He pulled away enough to reach for her face, and she found him in the failing light. She kissed him, wishing that, somehow, she could kiss away his pain. 

They would never turn their back on Merle—that wasn’t the Dixon way—but they’d always kind of figured that Merle would get himself killed, one way or another, because of his addictions. Carol could fully admit, though she wouldn’t say anything to Daryl at the moment, that they had never once imagined this might be the way that things happened. 

“I come over here because I thought I heard something,” Daryl said. “Thought it was maybe Merle coming back. Can’t find a damn thing. Not even an animal, from what I can tell. Just wishful thinking.” 

“Andrea said that earlier,” Carol said. “She thought she heard him. She said she thought she heard him speak to her—she almost answered him.”

“Shit,” Daryl mused. “Andrea—shit…you think we oughta split up for the night? I’ll stay with Soph an’ you stay with Andrea? Just to be sure…”

“You don’t think she’d do anything…” Carol said.

“She saw her parents turned into them creatures,” Daryl said. “Never really resolved shit with them over Merle. Now we don’t know where the hell Merle is or when he’ll get back to the damn camp—if he ever does.”

“She has Amy,” Carol offered.

“And you know as good as I do that Amy ain’t never been no good for takin’ care of Andrea’s feelings,” Daryl said. “Especially not when it comes to Merle.” 

“You might be right,” Carol ceded. “I’ll talk to her. After dinner. When everyone’s settling in. I’ll bring it up that I’d like to stay the night. Just for comfort.”

“If she says no, she says no,” Daryl said. “But at least—if Merle does find his way back—we can say we offered. He’d be pissed to know she was just left alone with Amy.” 

“Come on,” Carol said. “You didn’t finish your dinner. You need to eat. You know how voraciously everyone eats around here. There might not be any left if you don’t get back to your portion.” 

Daryl laughed.

“They eat all that deer, and they’ve done something,” he mused. 

Carol tugged at Daryl’s arm and he resisted only a fraction of a second before starting the walk back toward the fire where everyone was eating and talking. Things had been tense since the group’s return, for obvious reasons, but everyone was starting to relax. The volume of conversation rose even as Carol and Daryl walked the short distance back.

Before they’d reached the fire, they heard the first scream. 

Carol’s very first reaction to the scream—the voice she couldn’t identify—was to freeze with the cold shock of an unexpected noise.

The second scream rang out almost immediately afterwards. 

“Andrea!” Daryl barked, recognizing the voice. 

Carol was already moving forward, her body practically moving without even having input from her mind.

“Sophia!” She screamed. Her daughter was with the rest of the group—among them—eating food and talking to the other children. Carol hadn’t brought her with her to check on Daryl because it seemed like something ridiculous. She was perfectly safe with the rest of the group. 

Now Carol wasn’t so sure.

“Mommy!” Sophia yelled.

It was dark enough, now, that Carol couldn’t really see much of the people around her beyond darker outlines against the darkness of night. She could identify Sophia’s body, though, in the darkness. She heard her and ran toward her. 

“Sophia! Sophia!” Carol called out, wrapping her arms around her daughter.

“Mommy!” Sophia cried, burying her face against Carol.

Carol didn’t know what was happening, but she knew it was bad. She could hear screaming. She could see the scramble of people as they ran, confused, in different directions.

Finally, her brain isolated one word when she heard Daryl yell it, announcing it to any person there that hadn’t yet identified the threat.

“Walkers!” 

Carol hadn’t carried Sophia in some time, and her daughter was more than capable of standing on her own two feet, but Carol wasn’t going to take the chance that she might become somehow frozen with fear when she most needed to move. Carol heaved Sophia up and, holding her against her, she looked around to try to identify the safest direction in which to move. 

There were gunshots. There were screams. There was more confusion than Carol could practically process. 

She screamed and slammed an elbow back when she felt herself being grabbed from behind. A hard hand anticipated the movement, though, and blocked her. 

“Take Sophia—head for the RV. Get inside! Don’t you come out ‘til I come for you!” 

“I love you,” was the only response that Carol could think to give. She heard the same words in return as she followed Daryl’s orders and carried Sophia as quickly as she could to try and take cover.

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The longest hours were the hours spent waiting for the sun to come up—hours spent waiting to survey the damage with the light of day. 

They didn’t dare to light a fire out of concern that the fire had drawn the Walkers and would draw more. They didn’t use flashlights. They didn’t light camping lanterns. 

It was best to sleep—those words were tossed around a few times by different people—but nobody slept. Carol had held Sophia, rocked her like she was a baby again, but she doubted that the little girl was actually sleeping.

Carol sat on the ground, her daughter cradled in her arms as much as her body would allow, and leaned against Daryl. With his arm around her, and his head sometimes leaned against her, he kept silent vigil with her. Like everyone else, they were waiting for the morning to survey the damage. 

Like some of the others, they were waiting for the light to bury their dead.

A few feet away from them, Andrea sat slumped on the ground with her gun resting on her knee. The red dot that appeared when Shane had tried to talk to her earlier—to offer to do something about the body—let them all know that she remembered the lesson about removing the gun’s safety, and she wasn’t in the mood to talk. 

Rather than try to force her to talk, Carol and Daryl had simply let her know that they were there—a few feet away—and they would be there when she was ready to talk to them. They would be there when she wanted to let someone else into her world.

Amy had been the first bitten. Andrea had been with her when she’d died, at least, though that was little consolation. 

Through a somewhat twisted game of something like Marco Polo, they’d identified that a couple of people who had joined the camp had also been bitten and killed. At that time, they’d risked the only lamp that they’d dared, and Daryl and Shane had gone around to find the bodies and to drive something into their brains to be sure that they wouldn’t come back as Walkers and create more chaos—and a rising body count—in the camp.

Andrea would not allow them to touch Amy, and Daryl had finally gotten Shane to back off of her with the reassurance that he would remain awake and keep vigil over her. The moment that the younger sister tried to come back, he would take care of her if Andrea couldn’t.

Carol knew that Sophia probably wasn’t sleeping—she doubted that anybody actually was—but she was being still and settled. That, at least, might mean that the little girl had some rest before morning. When Carol asked her if she was asleep, she didn’t respond. When Carol tried to test her, she got no response. Either Sophia had drifted off, or she was playing possum pretty well. 

“What do we do?” Carol whispered to Daryl.

“When we got some light on our side, we’re gonna—handle the bodies, first. I think that’s the most important thing. Shane agrees.”

“We bury them?” 

“Move them off from camp some distance,” Daryl said. “Burn the Walkers. Bury our people. We’d be diggin’ all day to try to bury all the Walkers.” 

Carol nuzzled her face against Daryl’s shoulder. She breathed in the smell of him. He’d changed his shirt to get rid of the one that had been covered in Walker muck. This one smelled like sweat, and dirt, and Daryl.

“Shane said it was the car alarm,” Carol said. “Do you agree with him?” 

“I don’t know,” Daryl said. “Like Dale said, hard to pinpoint the sound. Would’ve been hard for them to know exactly where it was comin’ from. I don’t know if they coulda followed that noise all the way here. More’n likely—I’d say it was a little of everything. A culmination. All the comin’ and goin’ today. We been in and outta here a lot. We still don’t know how they work. Could even be like ants. Send out scouts or some shit like that. Maybe we got a lot of attention earlier with the ins and outs, and it took ‘em this long to get here. Or—if that ain’t it…maybe we just been too loud.”

“We didn’t hear them,” Carol said. “And there were so many of them.”

“So many of ‘em means—maybe it weren’t nothin’ we did. Maybe they were just sorta passin’ through. Could’ve even been some kinda migration after Atlanta. One damn thing I do know is we’re gonna come up with somethin’ better to circle the camp. We shouldn’t have been stupid enough to think some string and tin cans was gonna be a good enough warning system—not that spread out, at least.”

“What do you have in mind?” Carol asked.

“Bein’ honest? I don’t got shit in mind right now. But I’ll have something after I take some time to think on it and we all discuss it. Pool our ideas.” He sighed. He turned his head and found Carol’s face. She felt his lips press against her temple. She smiled and used her one free hand—the one not going to sleep under her daughter’s body—to find his face with her fingers. She kissed him, and he kissed her back warmly. “Don’t worry about it no more tonight, woman,” Daryl said, his voice very low and gravelly. He was trying to calm her with just his tone, and it was working. She felt a wave of relaxation wash over her in spite of herself. “Just lean on me. Close your eyes. Try to get a little sleep.” 

“Daddy,” Sophia said, her voice cracking with the sound of sleep or near-sleep. 

“What’s wrong, Soph?” Daryl asked.

“Are the monsters going to come back tonight?” Sophia asked.

Daryl reached over and patted Sophia where she rested in Carol’s lap.

“I don’t think so, Soph,” Daryl offered. “But—don’t you worry about it. If they do? Your Ma and me are right here. And we got you. Now—same as I told your Ma, don’t worry no more. Close your eyes. Get some sleep. We’ll work everything out in the morning.”


	17. Chapter 17

AN: Here we are, another chapter here. 

I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! 

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“Hey—hey—take it easy,” Daryl said. “You don’t gotta do everything yourself. You don’t. Hey—listen to me, damn it.” 

He caught Andrea, from behind, with his hands on her shoulders. She noticeably stiffened. Her muscles went harder than they already were under the strain of trying to support the dead weight of her sister’s corpse. She’d moved her this far from the pile without Daryl, who had been busy digging, noticing what she was doing.

“She’s my sister,” Andrea breathed out.

They were relatively alone, even though they were surrounded by people. Everyone was busy with something. There were graves to be dug—deep enough to keep the animals out even if six true feet probably wasn’t happening in the hard soil and unforgiving sunlight. There were bodies to be moved. There were Walkers to be transferred and burned, and fires to be watched. There was water to be boiled for drinking, and cleaning, and there was food to be prepared for those that could stand to stomach anything.

And there was mourning to be done.

“Hey—put her down, OK? Just for a minute, Andrea. Let’s put her down.” 

Daryl slipped his hands under the body and helped Andrea lower the corpse to the ground. At that moment, he was far more worried about his sister-in-law than he was anybody or anything else at the camp. Daryl turned Andrea to face him and held her shoulders. She wiped at her eyes with her wrists, avoiding the possibility of getting anything from her hands into her eyes.

“Listen to me,” Daryl said, “we’re gonna bury Amy, OK? Respectfully. I’ma help you. Carol’s comin’ with Sophia. She’s not gonna be more’n a couple minutes. You and me are gonna get her in this grave, OK? But you gotta let me help you. And when we get her buried, we’re gonna get you a bath. Somethin’ to eat. And you’re goin’ to at least close your eyes and pretend you’re sleepin’ before I have to hit you in the back of the head and knock your ass out.” 

Daryl couldn’t get even the slightest glimmer of humor out of her.

“I should’ve taken care of her, Daryl,” Andrea said. “I should’ve protected her. My parents would have expected me to…take care of her.” 

“The last thing you or anybody else needs right now is pilin’ your parents’ guilt on top of everything else,” Daryl said. “They been shovelin’ that shit on you for as long as I’ve known you. There ain’t room for it in no more. Not in this world.”

“I didn’t take care of her,” Andrea said.

“What were you supposed to do? Predict somethin’ none of us saw coming? Amy was bit before we ever even knew there were Walkers.”

Andrea stared at him, but she gently nodded her head just enough to let him know that, even if she didn’t agree with him, she was willing to humor him for a little while.

“You ready to let’s—see her off?” Andrea’s chin quivered, but she steeled herself and nodded again. “Switch sides with me. I’ma get her shoulders and go down in the hole. I don’t want you breakin’ a leg out here.” 

Together, they got Amy’s body into the grave that was dug for her. Andrea asked to be helped down into the grave, and Daryl obliged her. He watched her as she rearranged her sister’s body, making sure that it lay just like she wanted it to in the hole. Daryl didn’t bother her, and he didn’t let anyone else bother her. Every person, as he saw it, could grieve in whatever way they needed to grieve. If part of Andrea processing one loss in a very large chain of losses was making sure that she felt her loved one was buried “correctly,” then Daryl could humor her and stand by the hole while she took an extra five minutes to arrange Amy’s body.

By the time that Andrea was satisfied—or as satisfied as she was likely to get—and Daryl had pulled her up out of the hole, Carol had arrived with Sophia. Dale had also joined them at the graveside. He’d spent much of the earliest hours of the morning sitting with Andrea, and he’d been one of the few people that she’d allowed in her presence by not threatening, in any way, to disturb her sister’s remains until Andrea, herself, was ready to deal with the loss. 

Daryl was happy to see him show up for the makeshift funeral, and he felt a rush of appreciation when he affectionately dropped an arm around Andrea’s shoulder, with Carol holding her from the other side, to offer his quiet condolences.

None of them really knew what to say at a funeral such as this and, arguably, Andrea hadn’t been as close to her sister as she might have once dreamed they could be. Andrea might blame herself for the distance between her and Amy, but Daryl knew that there had been a great deal more than that at play. The years between them created something of a natural rift. Instead of Andrea stepping in to take something of a parental role with Amy, though, like Merle had done with Daryl, Andrea had been pushed to the outer edges of her sister’s life. It had been Andrea’s parents, in Daryl’s opinion, that had been mostly to blame. They disapproved of Andrea, and they didn’t disguise that in any way. They disapproved of her choices—particularly where Merle was involved—and they taught Amy to disapprove of Andrea before she was even old enough to understand what it was that she was supposed to find distasteful about her sister’s life. They taught Amy that she was superior to Andrea—that she would fly higher and go farther. And, even though Andrea might have been willing to support her sister’s pursuit of everything she wanted in life, she was human and was naturally hurt by her parents’ decision to punish her for her choices by, essentially, dubbing her the “bad” child. She was hurt even more when she realized that Amy believed them.

Andrea delivered the eulogy for her sister, which mostly consisted of a few old memories and the lamentation that Amy had died far too young, and then Daryl had sent her on with Carol, despite her attempts to argue with him, for the food, bath, water, and rest that might bring her back from starting to look like a Walker herself. 

Dale had stayed behind to help throw shovelfuls of dirt into the hole and cover up the young woman. He was normally talkative, and sometimes excessively so, but he seemed to read the moment well. He seemed to understand that Daryl was tired in a way that sleep wouldn’t solve at the moment, and he didn’t want to fill this working time with idle chitchat or even heavy discussion about everything that was happening to his family. Dale guarded the silence with Daryl and simply got the job done.

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“Any sleepin’ goin’ on?” Daryl asked as Carol approached him. He handed her the mug of coffee he’d been saving for her because he knew she wouldn’t get any if he didn’t practically run away with it. She groaned quietly as she sat down beside him, and then she offered him a quiet thanks for the beverage. He was sitting just on the edge of camp. From the spot he’d chosen, he could see the fires that were still burning Walkers as people took turns tending to them and dragging wood over that would keep the flames hot enough to consume the bodies. He could just barely see the mourners still paying respects in the newly created graveyard. He could see the camp where people walked around looking like Walkers themselves, and he could see the tents where those that were choosing to turn in early were sleeping.

Soon, night would fall over them like a blanket. It would cover them entirely. It would call an end to a day that seemed like it had lasted twenty-four years instead of twenty-four hours.

Carol sighed next to Daryl and turned her neck, dramatically, so that he could hear it pop when the bones slid back into something like alignment.

“Andrea was fighting it,” Carol said. “But—Sophia’s a good nurse. She ignored her. Took her doll, and crawled right on up against her.” Carol laughed to herself. “She’s forcing Andrea to spoon her.” 

“Andrea won’t tell Sophia no for everything in the world,” Daryl said.

“She’ll be asleep soon just because Sophia’s making her hold still,” Carol said.

Daryl lit a cigarette. His own mug of cool coffee was practically empty, so he finished it off and dropped an arm around Carol’s shoulder. She moved closer to him and fit herself against him like she often did, making them almost like puzzle pieces fitted together while they sat on the ground.

“You oughta know that—people are talkin’ about breakin’ camp. Leavin’.”

“People?” Carol asked.

“Everyone, really,” Daryl said. “That one family left already. Not twenty minutes ago. What were their names—Brent and Lisa or whatever?” 

“Where are they going?” Carol asked.

“Said they got family in Pennsylvania. Think it might be safer up there.”

“Why would they think that?” 

Daryl laughed to himself.

“You want my honest opinion? They probably don’t think that. Hell—they prob’ly like the rest of us. Don’t know what the fuck to think at any turn. They just know they don’t feel safe here no more. Don’t feel safe at their home—wherever it was. Atlanta’s a bust. Hell—they’re lookin’ for something, that’s all.” 

“Everybody else?” Carol asked.

Daryl hummed.

“Mexican family’s headin’ to Alabama tomorrow. First thing in the morning. They didn’t want to take the chance like that other group and head out just when it’s gettin’ dark. I been collectin’ conversations. I think that everyone’s just about ready to look for something else.” 

“What else is there to look for?” Carol asked.

Daryl took a long drag on his cigarette. He blew out the smoke in a sigh.

“I don’t know, exactly,” he said. “But—shelter. Tents are fine for now, but the winter’s gonna catch our asses out here. We could prob’ly be OK for a while, but none of us are really equipped to be winterin’ hard out in some tents, and Merle ain’t here to give us no tips. I was overhearin’ what Shane was sayin’. I gotta admit, he ain’t wrong.” 

“What was he saying?” Carol asked.

“That we could stand to find some protection. Something better’n string and tin cans. A good fence. Something that could hold the Walkers out if they were to even just come wanderin’ through like we think they done last night,” Daryl said. 

“What’s everyone else saying?” Carol asked.

Daryl hummed to himself and lit a second cigarette off the one that he was finishing up.

“All over the damned place. One of the people’s bit.”

“Walker bit?” Carol asked. Daryl felt her tense as she pulled way from him to see his face better. He pulled her back and rubbed his hand over her back to relax her a little. 

“Seen it while we were finishin’ coverin’ some holes. That Jim guy. He was just gonna keep it to himself, I guess, until he died. But we seen it. Know it’s there, now.”

“Daryl—that’s fatal,” Carol said. “And it means he’ll turn into one of those things.” Daryl hummed his agreement. 

“Don’t know how long it takes to run its course,” Daryl said. “But he’s already startin’ to show some signs of a fever. Camp’s of a divided mind. Some think it’d be better for him to just—let someone shoot him. Put him outta his misery quick. But he don’t want that, and we’re on a slippery slope if we shoot him against his will. So, naturally, others think he oughta be allowed to die on his own like he wants right now. That asshole, Rick? He’s suggestin’ that we oughta head for the CDC in Atlanta.”

“Why would we do that?” Carol asked.

“CDC is built to withstand like nuclear war,” Daryl said. “If they know anything about this…how to stop it? CDC is where they gonna be workin’ on that. He thinks we ought to take Jim there.” 

“Atlanta’s overrun,” Carol said.

“Might can get through with the vehicles,” Daryl said. 

“And we might get stuck, too,” Carol said. “What do you want to do, Daryl? What do you think is best?” 

“What I wanna do is wake the fuck up an’ be back in our house and none of this shit be real,” Daryl said. “But since I can’t do that…I think that Shane’s willin’ to at least try the CDC. I have to admit—I’d rather eat mud than give into a single damn thing that asshole, Rick, wants, but…I kinda see where Shane’s comin’ from. We could at least see if there’s anything there we can learn.”

“Right into all those Walkers?” 

“Just check it out at least. We can leave it,” Daryl said, “if we don’t like the looks of it. Head somewhere else. Look for that shelter and them fences. There’s an assload of farmland and shit around us. We’re bound to find somethin’ at least halfway decent. Buy us some time to figure out what the hell we’re really gonna do. Where we go from here. But if there’s a cure or whatever, it might be worth findin’ out.” 

“What about Merle?” Carol asked.

“I think if I can tell Andrea she’s gotta face the facts about Amy, maybe I gotta face the facts about Merle,” Daryl said. “Maybe she does too. We’re gettin’ closer to that forty-eight hours. He ain’t back yet.”

“Do you think he’s dead?” Carol asked. “Just between us.”

“I don’t wanna think it,” Daryl said, “but that was a lot of blood. Merle—he was smart. He’da made a tourniquet best he could outta his belt or some shit. He tried to cauterize the wound. Found proof of that. But—Carol, I don’t know how much blood a body’s got in it, but I know that was a lotta damn blood trailed through that buildin’. Then he went out the fuckin’ door. Out in all them things—bleedin’ like that, prob’ly weak as shit. Maybe trippin’ on some fuckin’ drugs he got somewhere.” 

“We don’t have to go to the CDC,” Carol said. “We can stay here. If the numbers shrink—it’s not so loud and there’s not so much light at night…Daryl, maybe the Walkers won’t come back through here.” 

“And we’re still tryin’ to winter hard,” Daryl said. “Whether we go to the CDC or not, we gotta find shelter before it gets too cold, and I don’t know what I could build us in a hurry without preparation or even proper supplies. I don’t like leavin’ the camp, Carol. I don’t like thinkin’ it might be time to give up on Merle and figure—like I been worryin’ would happen for years—that he’s just gotten killed now, but I think this might be a time when we’d do better to have some numbers. If we go to the CDC, all of us together, it gives me a last look at Atlanta. Just—some fool idea I might just see him, I guess. Other part of me thinks—Merle woulda thought about the CDC, maybe. He’s smart like that. Maybe he’d figure they might could save him.” He squeezed Carol against him, happy to simply have the feeling of her there—something tangible and solid. Someone he could rely on. He’d known her relatively little time in the grand scheme of things, but he felt like he’d known her forever. His soul, maybe, had always known she was there—somewhere. 

“I don’t know what’s going on,” Daryl continued. “Or what’s gonna happen. What I do know is that—you and Andrea both need some lessons to get better at takin’ care of yourselves and everybody else. I don’t mean that bad, just…somethin’ we need more of if we’re gonna be fightin’ whole herds of these things. And I know that Andrea’s in a real bad way right now. Real bad. I don’t wanna set off not knowin’ what the hell we’re doin’ or how we’re gonna do it by ourselves. Not until I’m sure she’s got both her fuckin’ feet planted on the ground.” Daryl laughed to himself. “Merle would come back from the dead, himself, and kill my ass if I just let her get torn apart…or worse. She’s my responsibility now.”

“You don’t have to carry the weight of the world,” Carol offered.

“If Andrea’s the weight of the world, that’s a weight I wanna carry,” Daryl said. “I’d expect the same damn thing of Merle. It’s just what the hell Dixons oughta do.” 

“We’ll take care of Andrea,” Carol offered. “Both of us will.” 

“What do you want to do, Carol?” Daryl asked. “I don’t wanna be the one makin’ the decision for everyone.” 

“I want to—go with you,” Carol said. “Wherever that is, Daryl.”

Daryl laughed to himself.

“That don’t exactly help make a decision.”

Carol sighed.

“I don’t know the right answer any more than you do.”

“But you know which way you’re leaning.” 

“If there’s a chance for a cure—maybe we ought to at least look into it.”

“You wanna go to the CDC with—what appears to be the bulk of the group, at least?” 

“As long as we’re all going together,” Carol said, “the CDC’s as good as anywhere.”


	18. Chapter 18

AN: Here we are, another chapter here. 

I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! 

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As soon as they’d finished breakfast, Daryl had been dragged off by Shane so that the man could make a request of him in private. He’d asked Daryl if he had any mechanical knowledge, probably jumping to conclusions based on his own inner collection of stereotypes, but had been pleased to find that this particular stereotype turned out to be accurate. 

Since they’d lost people, they had a surplus of vehicles. The bright side to that was that Daryl was going to get to go through and choose the soundest—or desirable for other reasons, honestly—vehicles available for the group to drive. They would siphon gas out of the rest and divide it as evenly as possible among the cars they would take with them. 

It was a good idea, and Daryl had agreed to it immediately. He didn’t even have to ask Shane why the man was addressing him at some distance from the group, though. Any idiot could see that Shane wasn’t pleased with Rick’s presence at the camp. Daryl assumed that a great deal of it had to do with the family that they’d thought was Shane’s, but Daryl didn’t much care for digging too deeply into the business of others.

All that mattered to Daryl was that he felt like Shane’s reasoning was sound, his request was in the best interest of them all, and Daryl understood his hesitancy to bring up anything around the man who seemed to want to control everything and, besides that, to be contrary to everyone else on what appeared to be principle alone.

They said goodbye to a few scattered people they’d collected during their time there, and those people set off in search of whatever they believed they would find. Daryl practically forgot their names and their faces before the sound of their engines was too far away to hear. He had no time or energy for remembering people, honestly, that held little importance for him or his family.

He inspected the vehicles and gave Shane his honest opinions. Beyond concerns of reliability, Dale was taking his RV. The vehicle would offer them shelter in an emergency and, therefore, was valuable. Daryl was taking his truck because he could load Merle’s bike on the back. The motorcycle was loud, but it was fast and easy to maneuver—sentimental value aside—and it could prove valuable if Daryl needed to move around quickly and easily to check out whatever might lie ahead of them.

The rest of the vehicles selected were reliable. 

They broke camp by packing up everything they had in the various vehicles. They siphoned gas and filled tanks with what they found. 

Everyone stuck to what they were doing, really, and got everything ready to go rather quickly.

When they were packed, and people were already loading cars, Daryl dropped an arm around Carol’s shoulder and pulled her close to him. She practically melted into him, the way she always did, and wrapped her arms around him. 

Daryl took one last long look at the camp—a place he’d been many times before, but never quite like this. He got that distinct feeling in his gut that he’d never come back here. He’d never see this place again, just like he got the feeling that he’d never again lay eyes on the sleepy little town of East River.

There must have been something in Carol that could read his emotions. She tightened her hug. 

“You OK?” She asked quietly.

“Gotta be,” Daryl offered.

“You wanna talk about it?” She asked. 

Daryl smiled to himself. Carol urged him to talk about things. She urged him to talk about his feelings. That wasn’t something that Dixons used to do—talk about their feelings. They used to express their feelings with slamming doors, fists, and open palms or backhands. They used to drown their feelings or try to send them away with drugs. 

That kind of behavior frightened Carol, though, because she knew how destructive it was, and Daryl would never let Carol be frightened—not even for a moment—not if he could help it. 

Dixons were changing, perhaps, slowly. Now Dixons talked about their feelings, and Daryl had to admit that he preferred the new way of dealing with things over the old.

“Not yet,” he said. “Right now, I guess I’m just—sayin’ goodbye to somethin’.” 

“To Merle?” Carol asked.

Daryl’s chest tightened. His throat cramped. He nodded his head because, at that moment, he couldn’t have talked about it if he’d wanted to. He was choking on it, and he wasn’t ready to move all the way to the point where Dixons cried about their feelings—at least not in public and beyond the safety of a private space shared only with the person to which they’d chosen to be bonded for life and, hopefully, something beyond.

“When you’re ready, OK?” Carol said. Daryl nodded his head and Carol leaned to kiss his jaw. She buried her face against his neck. He felt her sniff him. He probably smelled like sweat, and gas, and dirt, but she still seemed to love to smell him.

She stood there with him for a long moment. She ignored he comings and goings of the others with him. 

And then, when he was ready to go, he turned and pulled her along with him as they walked toward the two vehicles their family would be taking—the truck with the bike already loaded and the four-door car that Carol had been driving for years, but which Daryl knew was reliable because he’d seen to having nearly everything on it upgraded or replaced.

Andrea was standing by the car with a hand on Sophia’s shoulder.

“I think everyone’s ready to go,” she said.

“Are you OK?” Carol asked her.

“I think—right now I’m just here,” Andrea said. 

“Good enough for now,” Daryl said. He looked at Carol. “How you wanna do this? All y’all pile into the car? I’ll follow with the truck?” 

“Why don’t you ride with Daryl for a while?” Andrea asked, directing her words at Carol. “Sophia can keep me company.”

“I can,” Sophia offered. “I’m good company.” 

Carol smiled at Sophia. 

“You are,” she assured her. “Are you sure you’re not going to be too scared?” 

“Andrea’s got her gun,” Sophia offered, as though that were explanation enough as to why she wouldn’t be frightened, even though they had no idea what they might see on the road.

“Are you sure you don’t mind?” Carol asked.

Andrea gave her a half of a smile which, in that moment, Daryl figured was about all that his sister-in-law could muster. She’d packed up camp with the rest of them. Daryl had watched her pack both Merle’s things and Amy’s things—carefully tucking them away. In theory, she was taking them so that someone else could use them. Daryl knew, though, that, in practice, it was the last way that she had to be close to either of them for just a while longer. She was wearing one of Merle’s shirts at the moment—stained and dramatically oversized for her frame—but Daryl didn’t point that out.

“I would love it,” Andrea said.

“Then it’s settled,” Daryl said. “Y’all go in front of us. That way we can keep an eye on you. We’ll be in the truck.”

Daryl took his turn hugging both Andrea and Sophia after Carol finished giving out her affection. Then he opened Carol’s door and closed it once she was inside the truck. He came around, let himself into the driver’s seat, and closed the door. They sat, in silence because there was nothing else to say for the moment, and waited until everyone else got their ducks in a row. When they all finally ready to leave, the Dixon family joined the caravan as it left the camp and headed toward Atlanta—and whatever the future may hold for any of them.

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Daryl slowed the truck as the caravan in front of him slowly eased to a stop in the middle of the road they were travelling on as they moved toward Atlanta. There was no need to pull off to the shoulder. They had no worries about traffic, or tickets, or anything else.

It appeared, as they took in the world beyond their camp, that they were the last remaining living people on Earth. Daryl doubted that to be true, of course, but it certainly looked that way.

At any rate, there was nobody around to complain about their choice to stop dead in the middle of the road.

“What do you think it is? What do you think’s going on?” Carol asked, sitting up and stirring next to Daryl. They’d been quiet for most of the drive because there was really nothing to say and, sometimes, they both enjoyed the comfortable silence of each other’s presence. It allowed for thinking and processing—something everyone was going to need to do a great deal of these days. She hadn’t fallen asleep, but she had certainly been lulled. Now she was almost immediately tense thanks to the sudden change in movement.

Daryl reached over and caught her shoulder. He squeezed it. He moved his hand closer to her neck and squeezed, again, affectionately.

“Flat tire, maybe. Engine trouble. Prob’ly somethin’ like that. Just relax. I’ma check it out.”

Daryl let himself out of the truck. He was aware that Carol followed him, spilling quickly out of the passenger side door. She nearly jogged to the car in front of them and pushed the passenger door closed, pushing Sophia to stay inside if she’d tried to get out. Carol stood against the car door, her hand on the window in a sign that told their daughter she preferred if she stayed inside the car, even though Andrea got out of the driver’s side.

“What is it?” Andrea asked. “What’s happening?” 

“Prob’ly just a flat or somethin’,” Daryl said, waving his hand back at both women. “Stay here. Stay close to each other. Get in the car if anything happens.” 

Daryl walked forward. People were spilling out of the vehicles. Suddenly, bursting through the silence around them, Daryl heard screams from inside the RV.

“Shit…the hell is that?” He spat, hating to admit that the abrupt yelling startled him.

“Look—Rick—we can’t go on like this,” Dale said. “We can’t keep going with him like this.” The yelling in question continued and Daryl very quickly figured out it was the man who had been bitten. 

“It’s getting worse,” Jacqui said. “The fever’s burning hot. And he’s in pain constantly. He can’t take the movement.” 

“We’ve got to get him to the CDC,” Rick said.

“If he keeps screamin’ like that, none of us is gettin’ no damn where!” Daryl said quickly. “He’s gonna bring every Walker in Georgia down on us. Someone’s gotta shut him up.”

“What do you want to do?” Rick asked.

“I don’t give a damn what’cha do!” Daryl said. “But someone’s gotta shut him up. I got a wife. A kid. My sister-in-law. I can’t stand to lose no damn body else ‘cause you wanna play fuckin’ Florence Nightingale drivin’ him to the CDC.” The yelling continued. Daryl felt like it echoed in the trees around them. “Man—shut him the fuck up!”

“Daryl’s right, Rick!” Shane threw in. “I wanted to give you the chance. Give Jim the chance. But he won’t make it the CDC.” 

“Then we wait here,” Rick said.

“And what? Wait for the fuckin’ Walkers to tear us apart?” Daryl asked. 

“We can’t just kill him,” Rick said. “You can’t just shoot him because he’s…”

“Because he’s dying, Rick,” Shane finished. “And that’s exactly why we should shoot him. Man—put him out of his misery.” 

“I’ll do it if you ain’t man enough,” Daryl said. “But we sure as shit can’t wait here. We won’t make it through a night with him screamin’ like that…and he ain’t gonna make it no damned way.” 

Daryl started toward the RV and Rick grabbed him by the shoulder, somewhat spinning him around. He backed up when Daryl put his hands up as a warning that he didn’t appreciate being manhandled. 

“We can’t just kill people!” Rick barked at him.

“You ain’t had no problem doin’ it before,” Daryl said. “When it was my brother you was killin’. What the hell is it you love so much about this asshole?” 

“I didn’t kill your brother,” Rick said.

“Left him for dead. Close enough.”

“He could’ve waited for us to get back.”

“Except he had no fuckin’ reason to believe you were comin’ back,” Daryl said. “No fuckin’ reason to believe you would even tell us the truth about what happened. If you even did. That sorry asshole in there is dyin’, Rick. Gonna burn out from fever or go insane from pain. Either damn way, it’s a lot worse to go like he’s goin’ than to take a bullet to the brain—over in a second. But if you think I’ma stand here an’ let Walkers eat what the fuck is left of my family so that he can scream himself to death for an hour longer of miserable damn life? You got another damn think comin’.” 

“Back up,” Shane said, somewhat putting himself between Daryl and Rick. “Just—back up. Daryl—cool down. Go talk to Carol. Get a bottle of water or something.” 

Daryl did back up. He checked himself and realized his temper had him nearly boiling as hot as Jim was boiling with the fever. He didn’t go talk to Carol right then, because she was close enough to hear what was happening. He did light himself a cigarette, though, to try to calm down.

“Daryl’s not wrong, man,” Shane said. “We hang out here another hour, even, we could lose the light. Trying to navigate Atlanta in the dark when it’s overrun is suicide. Staying close by after he’s been screaming like this? You gotta think about shit. Who the hell would you rather kept on living? Jim—who isn’t gonna make it anyway, or Lori and Carl? You gotta think about that, Rick.” 

“What if we give him a choice?” Dale asked. 

“A choice of what?” Shane asked, turning quickly toward the old man.

“Does he want to try to continue on, or not,” Dale said. 

“He already said that he doesn’t want to be shot,” Rick said.

“And he’s still saying that,” Jacqui said, stepping out of the RV. Apparently, while they’d been arguing, she’d taken it upon herself to go inside and ask Jim exactly what Dale suggested that they might consider asking him. “He wants to stay here.” 

“We can’t just hang around here waitin’ for him to die an’ waitin’ to be torn apart,” Daryl said. “Man—I was gonna stay with you, but fuck that. We’re out. We’ll go on. You can stay here and watch him burn alive with his fever.” 

“No,” Jacqui said quickly. “No—not like that. He wants…us to leave him here. He wants to die here. Alone. He knows it’s time. He wants us to go on without him.” 

“Can’t argue with what the man wants,” Daryl said.

Rick gave him a look, but Daryl shrugged it off. 

“We could get him to the CDC,” Rick said. “There’s still time.” 

Daryl laughed to himself. 

“It’s done, Rick,” Shane said. “We can still go to the CDC. We can still see if there’s—some kind of solution. Some breakthrough in all of this, but it’s too late for Jim.” 

“He doesn’t want to go anyway,” Jacqui said. “He says—he’s not going. He wants to stay here.” 

“Then what the hell are we still arguing for? Let’s get this taken care of and hit the road. We’re burnin’ daylight, and we don’t wanna stay here no longer than we already have,” Daryl said. 

“You really don’t care about this?” Rick asked, half to Daryl and half to Shane who was already moving to help Daryl move Jim out of the RV.

“We don’t have that much time, Rick,” Shane offered.

“Don’t you try to paint this shit like you tryin’ to paint it. I’m not a monster, Rick. Complete damn opposite of that. I got enough things I’m carin’ about right now,” Daryl said. “Everybody’s just got their limit. This happens to be mine.”


	19. Chapter 19

AN: Here we are, another chapter here. 

I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! 

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The CDC was as close to a fort as any modern day building probably could be.

They’d reached it just as the light was starting to fail and the colors of sunset were bleeding quickly into the sky. They wouldn’t make it out of Atlanta before dark, even if they left now. Their choices were either to stay in the cars and hope that they provided all the necessary protection for a night in Atlanta’s Walker flooded streets, or run for the building and hope that they could somehow get inside.

They’d all made the decision without speaking to each other and, each of them taking a small bag they’d prepared for a situation where they had to run for it, and all the weapons they could carry, they ran toward the building. They could come for the rest of their items once they were settled—if the place was even still running—but they didn’t want to be too weighed down.

After trying to find a way in for a while and beating on the doors, requesting entrance, they’d almost given up. They’d been ready to turn back, return to the vehicles to hunker down, and hope that they all made it through the night. The movement of a security camera had held them there a bit longer, though—first, arguing over whether or not the camera’s movement meant anything at all, and then begging entrance if there was anyone behind the movement.

Someone had been behind the movement and, eventually, the heavy doors had been opened to them. 

When the doors opened, Rick was one of the first inside since he’d been closest to the door and was able to pull it open first. Daryl had quickly herded Carol, Sophia, and Andrea inside with the others. Immediately, he noticed the place smelled sterile, but he assumed that they could expect very little else at the CDC.

The man that met them was wearing a lab coat. He stared at them; his brow furrowed like he was angry with their intrusion.

His expression softened as his gaze tripped over all of them and took in their appearances. They must have all looked somewhat pitiful to cause the change in the man’s countenance.

“I’m Dr. Edwin Jenner,” he said. “Everyone—used to call me Jenner.”

“Rick Grimes,” Rick offered, first, since he was closest to the man. “Rick.”

Daryl didn’t offer to introduce himself because nobody else did either. He didn’t get the feeling that Jenner was interested in introductions at that precise moment. Instead, Daryl stood with a hand on Carol’s shoulder, and one on Andrea’s. Carol hugged Sophia tight in front of her.

Jenner let his gaze dance over them all again, his eyes pausing a second on each of them.

“They used to call you that?” Andrea asked, softly, barely breaking the awkward silence that settled over them. He hummed and let his eyes fall hard on her. “You said—they used to call you Jenner. They don’t anymore?” 

The man smiled. Laughed to himself—barely. He gave off something of an uneasy feeling. It was one that Daryl couldn’t quite put his finger on. He couldn’t quite explain. As soon as Jenner spoke again, though, Daryl thought he might understand it.

“I’m the only one left,” he said. “There’s—nobody else. I’ve been alone—a while.”

The man, perhaps, was faring no better than the rest of them with the end of the world. Jenner looked over Andrea and back toward the door. Then he let his eyes ghost one last time over their band of travelers.

“You can stay or you can leave,” he said. “The choice is yours.”

“We hoped you might have a cure,” Rick said.

“I was working on one,” Jenner said, letting his words trail off.

“Do you have food? Supplies?” Shane asked.

“More than enough for—forever,” Jenner said.

Daryl’s stomach twisted gently, and he considered the man’s words and the hint of a smile on his lips. There were dark circles under his eyes. He appeared exhausted. Maybe it was solitude and a loss of hope. 

“Is it safe here?” Rick asked.

“Nothing can get in,” Jenner said. “But I’m telling you now that—whatever you want? Whatever you brought with you? You better get it now. We’ve got most everything you’ll probably need, though, if it isn’t personal or sentimental. And if you’re going to stay? You’ll all have to submit to a blood test.”

“Fine,” Rick said, answering for all of them. Daryl decided they might have to get used to him at least attempting to do that. Still, for the moment, Daryl didn’t disagree with him. 

“I mean it about getting what you want,” Jenner said. “Now. When that door closes, it doesn’t open again.”

He would lock the doors, and he would lock the place down again like it had been when they’d arrived. The place was safe, but the only thing that kept it safer than anything else in Atlanta was the extra layer of security. That wouldn’t be effective if he left it open.

There was a silent question tossed around about if anyone needed anything from the vehicles. There was very little that any of them had anymore, though, and they’d packed their most precious possessions in the bags that they carried—one small bag for each person to carry on their backs. 

“You got clothes?” Daryl asked. “Supplies?” 

“Everything you’ll need,” Jenner said.

There was another exchange of shrugs and head shakes.

“I think we’ve got all we really have,” Shane said. “We didn’t have much left.” 

“Let’s go then,” Jenner said. “Follow me.”

“Stay together,” Daryl offered quietly to his small family as he moved his hands from shoulders to allow them all to follow the man into a staircase just after he gave a command to someone or something that must have been listening—because the doors outside began to seal.

11111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

Immediately he recognized he light beyond his eyelids. The pounding in his head like someone was using it for a drum. The dryness of his throat and the way that he seemed to have very little to swallow down to quench it. 

He heard the sound of walking in the space around him. Strained his ears to hear it better beyond the interminable pounding.

“Andrea,” he said, choking on her name. 

His heart seized in his chest as something deep inside him realized that she wouldn’t be there, but he needed her to be there—wherever there was.

“Alice told me you were starting to come around. I almost didn’t believe her. Thought she was finally cracking under so many hours spent shut up in here working on you. Come on, now. Open your eyes.” 

Merle didn’t know or recognize the man’s voice. When he opened his eyes, he didn’t recognize the man’s face, either. He didn’t know the clean room or the hospital bed where he was laying—the kind they used in emergency rooms. He didn’t know the clothes he was wearing—a clean shirt and shorts that appeared to be something akin to basketball shorts—under the blanket draped over him.

What he did know—what he learned from taking quick inventory of his body and his surroundings—was that he’d been there long enough to be hooked up to a piss bag that was, indirectly, being filled by an IV that was dripping into his veins. The IV delivered something to help with the unbearable thirst, perhaps, and maybe even something to help with…with everything else the world seemed to have dealt him. 

It was not giving him anything, though, to help with the harsh taste of sobriety at a moment when he didn’t particularly know if he wanted it.

“Andrea?” 

The man staring at Merle laughed to himself. He raised his eyebrows and nodded his head.

“You are fond of her, aren’t you?” 

“Where is she?” Merle asked.

“I wish I knew,” the man said. “I really do. When we found you in Atlanta, you were alone. Just about bled out from that.” He gestured toward Merle’s arm. Merle followed his gesture with his eyes. For a moment, he’d forgotten it all. It had all seeped out of him. Slowly, it came dripping back into him almost like the liquid into his veins from the IV bag.

“Asshole…” Merle muttered to himself.

“I beg your pardon,” the man said with mock offense in his tone.

“Not you,” Merle said, but he already knew that the man knew that. “Asshole that handcuffed me to a roof. I had to cut it off with a fuckin’ saw.”

“Is that what happened? Who was it?” 

“Didn’t know him,” Merle said. “Police officer. Fuckin’ Officer Friendly of Mayberry, I guess. Handcuffed my ass to a roof. Left me for dead with them Walkers all around. Didn’t know him. And I don’t know you.” 

The man smiled to himself.

“The Governor of Woodbury,” the man offered. “Everyone just calls me the Governor. We haven’t been properly introduced. All you’ve said since we found you was…well…Andrea.” 

Merle relaxed into the bed. Whether it was whatever he was receiving from the IV or just his instinct, he didn’t feel that there was anything to fear at the moment. The man was obviously clean. His clothes were clean. He was well-fed. Healthy. The man’s stance was relaxed. Not threatening. His hands were empty. He wasn’t carrying a weapon. He didn’t give off the smell of cat piss that most people did when they were being dishonest and waiting to see if they would be detected.

“Merle,” Merle said. “Dixon.”

“It’s nice to formally meet you, Mr. Dixon.” 

“Merle.”

“Merle. As I was explaining, when we found you in Atlanta, you were nearly bled out. We only found you because we heard you—followed the Walkers. They’ll find the living; you can be sure of that. You were so close to death that one of my men considered putting you out of your misery. But I thought there was something in you that wanted to live. I guess I was right.”

The man stared at Merle like he expected him to contribute to this story in some way, but Merle had nothing to contribute.

“You got a cigarette?” Merle asked.

“I kept these, since you had them in your pocket,” the Governor offered, bringing Merle a pack of cigarettes and a lighter that he recognized. He put an empty glass on a small table next to Merle. Merle glanced around, but there was no oxygen in the space, so he lit a cigarette. “Everything else you had is here, too. We kept it all in case you woke up. Do you need anything else for the moment?” 

“Water?” Merle asked. From the same counter where he’d gotten the cigarettes, the man quickly retrieved a bottle of water. Merle thanked him, not wanting to seem entirely ungrateful. “You brought me here—then what?” 

“Alice did what she could to fix the carnage that was your arm,” the Governor said. “Fought off infection. And a bit of a withdrawal issue you seemed to have.”

The water was cool on Merle’s throat and the nicotine made his head feel better.

“I never shoulda took that shit,” Merle muttered to himself as much as he did to the man in front of him. “I told her I wouldn’t. Swore I wouldn’t. Again. I was done with it. All this shit goin’ on there weren’t room for it. We were finally gonna do it all, you know? Carpe the fuckin’ damn diem. Build a real life and put our middle fingers up to the fact that it’s all goin’ to hell. I don’t know why the fuck I even took it. You know? Found it in my fuckin’ pocket. Prob’ly been there since the last time I wore them pants. Never knew it was there. Didn’t even want the shit—just killin’ time waitin’ to lead ‘em all back to the fuckin’ camp.”

“Andrea?” 

“What?” Merle asked, her name making his stomach twist when it was on someone else’s tongue.

“You told Andrea you wouldn’t take…whatever you took?” 

Merle nodded.

“We looked around for a woman,” the Governor said. “There wasn’t another person alive out there. I’m sorry.” 

“She weren’t with me,” Merle said. “She didn’t come on the trip. She was at the camp. She’s—at the camp. Where am I?” 

“Woodbury,” the Governor offered.

“The town?” Merle asked, feeling like the man had already told him that, but he’d lost the information in the pounding in his head and the overload of thoughts and information.

“I’m the Governor,” the Governor repeated. “Of Woodbury.” 

“It’s still standing,” Merle said, not even sure, himself, if he meant it as a marveling of the fact or a question.

“Not in its whole and original form, exactly,” the Governor said, “but we’re doing well. There hasn’t been an attack or a death since two weeks after all this started. I’ll show you around when Alice says you’re free to leave the room and can manage to stay on your feet for a while.”

Merle shook his head. 

“I can’t stay,” he said. “I’ve gotta go back. To the camp.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the Governor said.

“The camp,” Merle said. “The camp where we were. I’ve gotta go back. My family’s there. My—Andrea’s going to be worried sick.”

“There are no living people left around,” the Governor said. “Not outside these walls. Herds have been on the move. Atlanta’s a wasteland. It’s good for picking for supplies, but there aren’t people there.”

“This weren’t Atlanta,” Merle said. He started to get up and remembered the IV and the catheter. “Get your doctor to get this shit outta me or—somethin’. I gotta go. How long I been here? It don’t matter—I gotta go to the camp. I gotta go back to my family.” 

“They left you, didn’t they?” 

“Wasn’t them,” Merle said. “Was Officer Friendly. If he’s done anything to them…”

The Governor held his hand up in Merle’s direction. 

“You might still be hallucinating,” he said. “Let me get Alice. You’ve been going through hallucinations for days.”

“I gotta find fuckin’ Andrea!” Merle growled at him. “My brother! My family’s out there!” 

“Easy,” the Governor said. “Calm down. Nobody’s trying to tell you that you can’t—look for them. But—do you even know where your camp is?” 

Merle laughed to himself. 

“I been to that camp on and off my whole damn life,” Merle said. “I could find it with my head cut off.” 

The Governor nodded. Then he smiled. 

“Then let me get you some help—a clean bill of health. And we’ll go together. You can show me your camp. We’ll find Andrea, shall we? We can invite your family back here. Where it’s safe. Where they’ll be safe.” 

“Why would you do that? Do all of this, for me?” 

“I’m a nice person. And this is a nice town, Mr. Dixon. But we need people—good people—to keep it that way. You seem like a strong person to pull through all of this. And you’ve got a family. We need families—right? We want families. We’re building something here. For the future. Finish your water. I’ll be right back with our doctor. We’ll go get Andrea and anyone else you think might contribute to a positive atmosphere here in Woodbury.” 

Merle took a deep breath and took another drag off the cigarette. He washed it down with the cool water. He relaxed a little. 

Andrea would be pissed, and he wouldn’t blame her for that, but she’d forgive him. If this place was all it appeared to be from in here? She’d forgive him because he’d bring her here—a place for families. 

Daryl would forgive him, too. He’d bring that little woman of his and their daughter—Daryl’s adopted daughter. They’d all forgive him when he told them he’d found them somewhere safe enough to convalesce without worry for days and wake up to medicine, water, and even a few luxuries.

He’d stay clean—for good this time—and they could live here. They could even grow their family, here in a place for families. 

The Dixons could thrive here.


	20. Chapter 20

AN: Here we are, another chapter here. 

I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! 

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“That’s a pretty serious injury to overcome in this world.”

The doctor, who was driving the truck, actually sounded human when she spoke this time. Before, when she’d been detaching tubes from his body, Merle had almost been able to believe she was some kind of medical android. Almost all of her questions, and all her responses, had been medical in nature—and rushed. 

The Governor wanted them to leave for Merle’s campsite as soon as possible. The hope was that they would retrieve Merle’s family—and anyone else he wanted to bring with him—and they’d return to Woodbury before the sun went down. If they were going to make that kind of progress, Alice had explained while doing what she needed to free Merle from his medical prison, then they were going to have to get a move on and they didn’t have time to waste with pleasantries and idle conversation.

She was wound tight, but Merle decided that it might be an occupational hazard for anyone who would work in the medical profession right in the middle of the shitshow in which they now found themselves.

They took two vehicles. The Governor and a man that Merle only met with a quick introduction—his name already forgotten—took one truck, and Alice, the doctor, drove a second truck with Merle riding shotgun. They wanted to be sure that they could bring back people and supplies while also not having to argue with anyone that they might be leaving behind about the vehicles at the camp.

Merle let Alice drive in silence, mostly because he believed that’s what she wanted, so he was surprised with the brunette broke the silence herself.

“Weren’t by fuckin’ choice,” Merle said.

“Meth,” she mused. “In this world? That’s pretty fucking bold.” 

Merle laughed to himself, struck by the comment.

“Maybe if you ain’t just a fucked-up addict,” he mused. 

“If you’re thinking about using again, I can tell you that it won’t go over well. The Governor won’t want to deal with a drug addict in Woodbury.”

Merle hummed.

“I got zero damn intention of using again,” he said. 

“Bet you’ve said that before,” Alice said. “I can hear it in your voice.”

“This time it cost me my hand,” Merle said. “My brother.”

“Andrea?” 

“I guess everybody knows about her,” Merle said.

“You hardly said a single other word since they found you,” Alice said. “You had a tough time coming off the meth with the blood loss and the trauma. Still, you never even asked me for water—or to kill you. Not like I expected. You just wanted Andrea.” 

Merle’s gut twisted.

“I know, now, she’s the only damn thing I ever wanted,” Merle said. “Just too fuckin’ stupid to realize it before. Let the damn drugs fuck that up—thinkin’ they could help me find some fuckin’ astral plane I couldn’t achieve on my own or some shit like that.” 

“It’s OK,” Alice said.

“It ain’t, but it’s done,” Merle said with a sigh. “You gonna—turn up there. You gotta slow down now, because you ain’t gonna see the road ‘til you on it.”

Alice followed instructions well. She slowed the truck almost to a stop, signaling for the vehicle behind her, and found the almost impossible little road that Merle indicated. 

“You gonna just follow it for a little while,” he offered, sitting back. “Can I smoke?” 

“Only if you’re willing to share,” Alice said.

Merle laughed to himself. 

“Only if you’re willin’ to light,” he said, tossing the cigarette pack and the lighter in Alice’s direction. She offered him a cigarette from his own pack and, when he took it between his lips, she flicked the lighter and held it out to him for him to lean and light his own cigarette while she kept her eyes on the road. Then she lit one for herself and rolled down her window, so he followed suit. “So—tell me about the Governor. What’s his real name?” 

“I don’t know,” Alice said. “Everyone just calls him the Governor.” 

“You don’t think that shit’s strange?” 

“I think—most shit’s strange these days,” Alice said.

“Can’t argue with that way of thinkin’,” Merle mused. “But you—like him?” 

“He saved my life,” Alice said. “Same as he saved yours.”

“You weren’t handcuffed to a roof in Atlanta,” Merle said. 

“No,” Alice said. “I was trapped in a mobile emergency unit set up just outside of Woodbury, actually. When the whole thing started it was an all-hands-on-deck thing, you know? Emergency situation. National. Everyone was getting sick. Nobody knew what was happening or how to stop it. I came down from South Carolina with a bunch of my colleagues and jumped into it. The small towns needed help, too, so we dispatched mobile units. The last radio call we got was that—Atlanta had fallen. Just like that. That’s what they said. Like a war zone. I can still hear the voice. Atlanta had fallen and they never said another word.”

“That’s when the Governor found you?” 

“Not right away,” Alice said. “I was there long enough for most everyone else to leave or die. Or both. Everyone who left, died, I think. Just about the time I was trying to decide my preferred method of suicide with what I had left, he showed up.” 

“Why didn’t you just—run for it?” 

“I’m weak,” Alice said, matter-of-factly. “Where would I run? Just somewhere else to get stuck until I ran again. I can’t even run that fast. They would’ve caught me. I have a place in Woodbury, though. I work when there’s work to do, and I eat and sleep without too much worry about the monsters that lurk in the dark.” 

“So, the Governor’s an OK guy? Like—he ain’t as crazy as he seems to call himself the fuckin’ Governor with no other name?” Merle asked.

Alice laughed to herself, but it didn’t sound sincere.

“Is there anyone that isn’t crazy now?” Alice asked. 

The statement struck Merle. What struck him more was the absolutely innocent sound behind the words. She simply meant them, and that was it. 

“I guess…” Merle mused.

“I just pulled you through the DTs from meth,” Alice said. “Got you over cutting your own hand off with a hacksaw. People who are dead don’t usually even seem to stay dead, these days, and that was one thing I had come to count on in the world. I can’t be the only one who’s not feeling like I’m living with the greatest amount of clarity I’ve ever had in my whole damn life.” 

Merle laughed to himself.

“You got me there, Doc,” Merle said. “But—maybe I should say…other than the daily, run of the mill, bein’ fuckin’ nuts…he’s a good guy?” 

“He saved my life,” Alice said. “And he saved your life. He’s…as good a guy as I’ve seen since the world went to hell in a handbasket.” 

Merle accepted Alice’s words because, honestly, he had no other choice. Like Alice, he felt a little like he was drifting—existing in a state of perpetual exhaustion—and the man who had saved them both was no stranger than many other people that Merle had met in his life. In his defense, Woodbury had seemed like a nice town, and it did seem safe. And, besides that, Merle hadn’t lost his life in the streets of Atlanta when, really, he probably should have.

And now they were going to get Daryl’s family and Andrea to take them back to Woodbury where they could all be safe.

Alice followed directions well, and pulled her truck to a stop right where Merle had asked her to.

If it hadn’t been for the other abandoned vehicles and some few signs that once people had been there, Merle might have thought that he’d made the whole damn campsite up.

He was vaguely aware that the doctor followed on his heels and the Governor and his right-hand man were close by as well. They remained, in his mind, somewhat distant. Maybe Alice was right. Maybe none of them were sane anymore.

Merle certainly didn’t feel sane as he struggled just to get his breath and walked the full area of the camp and the land beyond it. 

They were gone and, from the signs they’d left behind, they were gone for good.

The empty, abandoned campsite was enough to make Merle sick to his stomach. It was enough to make his knees feel like they weren’t stable enough to hold him.

But what he found, later, was enough to make him wish that they’d left him in Atlanta, right where they’d found him.

He jumped when he felt pressure on his shoulder, and he turned to see the brunette standing there.

“I guess they left,” she said. “Maybe they’re close by. Maybe we can—look for something. Some signs of a fire or…something, right? Maybe we can find them.” 

“These weren’t here,” Merle said, gesturing toward the graves. They weren’t freshly dug—not within the past few hours—but they weren’t old enough for the dirt to have fully settled. He could clearly tell where each of the graves was. 

“Maybe something happened,” the Governor said. “Maybe biters attacked.”

“Or that fuckin’ asshole that cost me my damn hand attacked ‘em for some fucked up reason,” Merle said. “Officer Fuckin’ Friendly coulda killed ‘em for all I know.” 

“We can search the area, can’t we?” Alice asked, turning toward the Governor with the same kind of supplication a child might have for their parents. The man’s overall hard expression softened. 

“Of course,” he said. “I’ll—send a team. Have them spread out. If they’re in the area, we’ll find them.” 

“Right now—I got somethin’ I gotta do,” Merle said. “There shovels in either of them trucks?” 

“There are tools in the back of our truck,” the Governor said. “I’m sure a shovel or two is among them.” 

“What are you going to do?” Alice asked.

Merle gestured toward one of the graves.

“That’s an ‘A’,” he said. Just saying it made him feel like his lungs might explode. His heart might explode. Maybe he’d die right there in the dirt with the good doctor trying pathetically to save his life. If he did—and if his greatest worries were correct—maybe they’d put him right into the hole he planned to excavate. “An ‘A’ made outta rocks.”

“Weren’t there other As?” Alice asked. Merle nodded his head. “It’s probably just…one of them.”

“Still,” Merle said. “I gotta fuckin’ know. You understand—or you don’t. But I gotta fuckin’ know.” 

Alice nodded. 

“Then let’s get some shovels,” she said. “I could use a little exercise.” 

“You ain’t gotta do my dirty work for me, Doc,” Merle said.

“And you’re in no condition to dig,” Alice said. “Besides—maybe, like everybody else, I just hope that someone would do it for me. If I ever needed it, of course.” 

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Sophia had not handled her blood draw well at all, and now she sat wrapped around her mother and sobbed while Carol did her best to comfort her and rock her. She was exhausted, she was hungry, and she was scared. If Daryl were being honest, a tiny part of him wouldn’t have minded indulging in the same kind of show of emotion in an attempt to blow off steam.

Daryl had helped Carol to take her seat after she’d given up what Daryl considered a ridiculous amount of blood because he knew how lightheaded and dizzy he’d felt when Jenner had finished with him. Carol hadn’t complained, but she was one of those people who simply didn’t complain. She’d been taught, by her ex, that complaining would only make any suffering that she endured worse. 

Now, Daryl stood with his hands on Andrea’s shoulders as Jenner finished drawing the blood from her veins.

“What’s the point?” Andrea asked. “If we were sick, you’d know. We’d have fevers. We’d be screaming for mercy. For you to kill us or just let us die. We know, we’ve seen it before.” 

“Believe me,” Jenner said, “I know what it looks like, too. This is the CDC, though, and it’s common practice to submit to a test if you want to enter here, and especially if you want to stay. Let me do my due diligence.” 

“What are you even testin’ us for? Just the virus you know we ain’t got?” 

“I test for everything,” Jenner said. “Whether it matters or not.” 

“That must be why you’re—taking so much blood,” Andrea said. 

Jenner seemed amused. 

“Don’t worry. You’ve got plenty to spare,” he assured her in the same kind of tone one might use to placate a child. “There. You’re done. Hold this in place.” 

Andrea pressed the cotton ball to the crook of her arm and stood up to make room for Jacqui who was coming to take her place in the chair. Daryl moved his hands to her arms to offer her support, and she stopped her forward progress for a moment and closed her eyes. She covered her mouth with her hand and made the unmistakable sound in her throat of someone swallowing down a retch. 

Daryl rubbed her arms.

“Breathe through it,” he offered. She nodded her head.

“What’s wrong?” Jenner asked. “Is she OK?” 

“No,” Daryl said. “She ain’t fuckin’ OK. None of us are fuckin’ OK. She’s in mourning. She ain’t hardly slept in days. Ain’t eat a fuckin’ meal in days. And—hell, now you drainin’ us of the only damn thing we got left. What the fuck you expect?” 

Immediately, Daryl stopped. Like Sophia bursting out with truly pathetic lamentations, his emotions had gotten the best of him. He hugged Andrea to him and started leading her toward the area of the room he’d silently claimed for his family. 

“Sorry,” he said. “It’s just—we’re tired. And hungry. And…every damn thing else.”

Jenner didn’t seem too bothered by Daryl’s outburst. The lines on his forehead softened and he laughed to himself as he got Jacqui situated. 

“Why didn’t you say so?” He asked. “Let me finish here and—you’ll have everything you need. There are plenty of beds. Plenty of food. Plenty of everything.” 

At least, Daryl thought, there was something good at the end of all of this. He could forgive Jenner even for his slightly callous way of acting if he could provide his family with all that he promised. A good meal and a good night of safety and rest had, honestly, never sounded better to Daryl in his whole life.


	21. Chapter 21

AN: Here we are, another chapter here!

There are a few things that I feel I need to address about this story. To be honest, a few of them have kept me from coming back here for a while. 

Firstly, I need to address the fact that this is titled “The Dixon Code” because it’s going to be looking at the Dixons—all of them. I promise that your favorites will have plenty of attention, but they’re not the only characters driving the story. I ask you to be understanding of that.

Secondly, I need to say that I’m playing fast and loose with characters. That means that some characters, like the Governor, may be quite different than they are on screen. I’m taking liberties and doing what I want with the characters and situations.

I hope you understand, and I hope you enjoy the chapter! Please let me know what you think. 

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“Well?” Daryl asked when Carol came into the room that they’d claimed for their own. He’d dragged cushions off the couch and, using the blankets that had been provided for them and their own items, he’d fashioned a pretty comfortable bed.

Jenner had kept his word about feeding them well. The amount of food available to them, honestly, had been staggering. There had been a great deal of alcohol available, too, and Daryl even had two bottles that he’d brought back to their room for drinking—wine for Carol and a bottle of whiskey as well.

The feast and the beverages hadn’t gone over as well for some as they had for others, though. The rich food on stomachs that had grown mostly accustomed to being empty had not sat well for everyone. In addition, some had gotten too enthusiastic about the alcohol and, not being prepared to hold their liquor, they were paying for it now.

“She’s not throwing up anymore,” Carol said. “But I put a trash can where she can get to it and Sophia’s sleeping with her. They’re both already passed out.” 

Daryl laughed to himself.

“Hopefully for different reasons.”

“For some different reasons,” Carol said. “And for some of the same reasons, if we’re being honest.”

“How long has it been since you seen Andrea fallin’ down, cryin’, and pukin’ drunk?” Daryl asked with a laugh.

“I’ve never seen her that way,” Carol said, stripping unceremoniously out of her clothes. Daryl and Carol had both showered, but Carol had taken a second shower, wearing her nightgown, after Andrea had accidentally puked on her and then, being so upset by what she’d done, had somehow slipped and skinned her knee by slamming it against the shower floor, dragging Carol down with her. “Have you?” 

“Once or twice,” Daryl said. He didn’t protest when Carol dried off with a towel and slipped into something clean and dry. He waved to her, inviting her to come to him, and she came and settled in next to him. She leaned against him and he inhaled the smell of shampoo and conditioner—a floral scent—in her hair. It was a stark contrast from the smell of the world outside of the CDC. “Merle used to mix drinks for her sometimes and he’d get too damn heavy-handed.” Daryl sat up and pulled away from her long enough to pour her a glass of wine from the bottle he’d brought. He passed it to her and she settled back against him. “Shit---Merle would really fuck her up sometimes—tell her it was less than it was. I told him he ought not to do it, but…he always said it was OK. She needed to let her hair down a little bit and he’d take care of her. He always did take care of her. I’ll give him that. She’d puke on herself and he’d wash her just like she was a damn kid. Dress her in her pajamas and tuck her ass in to sleep with a glass of water and some Tylenol. Stay up all night, if she needed him, just to make sure she didn’t choke or somethin’.” 

“That was before me,” Carol said. “Before we met.” 

“Long time ago,” Daryl admitted. “Merle never loved anyone like he loved Andrea.”

“He loves you,” Carol said. 

“Not the same,” Daryl said with a laugh. He pressed his lips to Carol’s temple and she hummed at him, satisfied, before she squeezed his hand.

“I hope not. Not exactly the same,” she said. “Still. You know—I’m not ready to talk about him in the past tense. He wasn’t on the roof. That means he might be alive.” 

“Out there. Bleedin’ like hell. Surrounded by them fuckers. Maybe outta his damn skull with crystal.” 

“I didn’t say that it was an ideal situation,” Carol said. “But—we’ve never given up on Merle before. It doesn’t feel right to…I don’t know…to start now.” 

“She ain’t gonna choke to death, is she?” Daryl asked, remembering that Andrea was passed out, drunk.

“No,” Carol said. “I tucked her in on her side. Sophia’s spooning her. I think—she just needed to empty her stomach. I didn’t even see her drink that much, to be honest. I mean—she was drunk, but I don’t think she was that drunk. I think it was the food.” 

“Stomach’s been pretty empty for a while,” Daryl said. “Too hard to digest.” 

“Sophia will wake her up if she gets sick,” Carol said. “She’ll come and get us, if nothing else.” 

Daryl reached his hand around. He let his fingertips play with the lobe of Carol’s ear absentmindedly. She squirmed against him and he smiled to himself. For some reason, her earlobes were sometimes a way to get her attention sexually. He could stir her up with certain touches, and he knew it. The way she wiggled—a certain arch to her back—he knew that she was dealing with at least a little smoldering interest. He didn’t let on that he knew, though. He simply swallowed down the rest of the drink he was holding his hand, put down the glass, and let the hand that wasn’t absentmindedly toying with her earlobe slip over to gently harass a nipple through her nightgown like he was only playing with a worry stone without thinking about it. 

“You sure Sophia’s OK?” Daryl asked. “Don’t want her bein’ uncomfortable with Andrea bein’ drunk.” 

“She’s seen drunk,” Carol said. She was trying to control herself, but there was a heaviness sneaking into her breathing that changed the rhythm of her words. A sound escaped her. Almost a whine. Daryl felt it run through his body. His dick jumped in response to the sound like it had heard a dog whistle. “She’s not scared of Andrea.” 

Carol drank some of her wine, but it was clear she was not doing well at paying attention to it. Daryl smiled to himself. He stopped rubbing her nipple and touched a finger to the side of her face. He turned her face, gently, to get her to look at him. 

Her pupils were dilated far beyond what the lamplight in the room should have caused. Her breathing was clearly heavy. 

He licked his lips before he even thought about the fact that he felt naturally inclined to the action, and he tasted her lips. She kissed him fully. His dick responded, egging him on. Daryl slipped a hand down, beyond Carol’s clean nightgown, and found the cotton of her panties. He rubbed his finger over the cotton, finding the spot he knew would get her attention.

She stiffened, moaned into his kiss, and then relaxed into him as he increased pressure and speed on the spot. Her natural reaction was to spread her legs, making room for him, and he moved his hand again, slipping it into the band of her underwear and pushing it down enough to harass the same spot—bare this time—with his thumb. He kept the kiss going as best he could, and hooked a finger into the warm, silky wetness beyond. 

Carol bit his lip, hard, and whimpered at him.

He didn’t know how long it had been. He felt like time was a concept that didn’t even make sense anymore. He felt like it passed in a blurred, staticky, impossible-to-even-conceptualize manner. It had been too long, though, and he was sure of that. 

He laughed to himself and it broke the kiss. Carol kept her mouth close to his, though. He continued his harassment, and she rode his hand, either absentmindedly, and driven by instinct, or purposefully—he couldn’t really tell.

“How you doin’?” He asked. “You doin’ OK, Sweetheart?” 

“Mmmm,” was her only response. She moved her mouth away from his. She nuzzled his face, practically head butting him in some act of desperation. 

“You need somethin’ else?” He asked. 

“Please,” she breathed out. 

“I didn’t hear ya…what was that?” Daryl asked.

“Please,” Carol said, a little louder, practically croaking out the word.

“You know I won’t make you beg,” Daryl said, laughing to himself. “Not too damn much at least. Here—get you a good swallow of this.” He tipped her glass up and she drank from it obediently. The smile in her eyes said she was pleased with whatever he wanted. “One more,” he instructed. “That good? Relax now, OK?” 

She nodded at him and let him take the glass and move it to the floor beside the bed. Her lips were chapped from dehydration and exposure to the elements. The wine stained them and almost made her look like she was wearing lipstick. Daryl tasted her lips. It was the only way, really, that he liked wine—secondhand from Carol.

He hummed his appreciation.

“Taste good?” She teased.

“Your lips always do. All of ‘em,” Daryl said. He moved the blankets away, revealing her to him. At first, she’d been very self-conscious and she hadn’t wanted him to see her. She’d even wanted the lights off when they’d been together, and she’d wanted to be covered by a blanket. He’d worked hard to get her to understand that, like they say a meal is better enjoyed with the eyes first, Daryl liked to see her. And, where her ex-husband hadn’t appreciated her body, Daryl thought she was a gourmet meal in every possible meaning of the word. “You know I got me a cravin’ for the taste of you I like the best—don’t’cha?” 

He slipped her panties off and smiled at her expression. Her motor was running at full power. He could practically blow his breath on her clit, at this point, and she would come. In contrast to the things that had made her ex-husband feel like some kind of man, the ability to drive her crazy with pleasure made Daryl feel powerful. It made him feel like a man.

He kissed from her navel down to where the soft curls started, feeling her body jump beneath his lips. 

“Open your legs for me, Sweetheart,” he said. “All the way. Don’t be shy. I wanna see all of you.” 

She wasn’t shy. And it wasn’t long after he latched onto her, hooking a finger inside her, that she reached for his pillow and used it to cover her face so that the whole of the CDC wouldn’t know that they had a little steam to blow off. 

Daryl feasted on her, enjoying his time between her legs more than he’d honestly enjoyed his time at Jenner’s overflowing table, and he only stopped when his jaw began to loudly protest his actions. He didn’t know how many times she’d come, but he knew that she was shaking when he changed his position and gathered her hips up.

He knew, too, that she held him in total lockdown when he’d slipped inside her as far as he could. 

She pulsed around him before he’d even begun to move, and her body jerked. He moved, kissed her neck where her head was tossed back, the pillow still muffling any sound that escaped and covering her face. He licked her neck and then let himself start to move. It only took one good thrust for him to realize that he was too hungry for her to control his actions as much as he might like. 

“I don’t got long,” he warned, but she didn’t seem to mind. She dropped her pillow to the side and looked at him with damp eyes.

“Come on,” was all she said, but it was enough. She invited him to take what he wanted—what he needed—and he did. He took every bit of it. He let himself drive into her hard, and fast, and just the way his body cried out for him to do. He muffled his cry of satisfaction by biting her shoulder—careful not to bite as hard as his nature wanted, so as to not really hurt her, and she bit her own hand in response to trying to muffle the noises that escaped her.

Daryl was exhausted and completely spent when he found his place next to Carol. He kicked off the blankets that they were using for cover. The sweat between them and the heat was too much for blankets right now. He nuzzled against her, instead, exhausted. He hummed when he felt her rubbing his face tenderly.

“I love you, Pookie,” she said. He smiled to himself, too exhausted to even open his eyes.

“I love you, woman,” he offered.

“You were wonderful,” Carol said. He hummed. He was too tired to speak. He made himself speak.

“You, too,” he got out.

“Sleep,” she said softly, still rubbing his head delicately with her fingertips.

Daryl didn’t know how long they stayed that way. He didn’t know how long she kept from moving. He didn’t know when she got up to clean herself, or if she got up to check on Sophia and Andrea. He didn’t know when she pulled the blankets over the two of them and settled down to sleep, herself. 

He didn’t know anything. Her permission to sleep, it seemed, was all that he needed.


	22. Chapter 22

AN: Here we are, another chapter here. 

I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! 

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For days, it seemed, they existed in a haze. For the first time since everything had simply gone insane, they could eat their fill, bathe, and sleep without concern. People enjoyed leisure activities like reading and completing puzzles.

It was, honestly, surreal, but Daryl enjoyed the first few days of it because, for the first time in a while, he could make love to his wife and he could sleep at night without worrying that he would lose even more than he’d already lost.

For a few days, he was allowed to begin the mourning process for his brother. 

Daryl hated to admit that he thought Merle was dead—for so long he’d believed his brother was, somehow, invincible. Still, in his gut, he did feel that Merle was simply gone. The world had always been hard, but it was harder now than it ever had been before and, no matter how much he had seemed like something superhuman to Daryl, Merle was only a man. Daryl was starting to accept that.

Andrea was not faring as well as Daryl with dealing with her losses. She was, perhaps, processing her grief, but she was doing so in a much slower way. She was unnaturally quiet and, in general, seemed to be physically ailing from her losses. Still, she did eat when pushed to do so, bathed when Carol reminded her that she needed to do such a thing, and she allowed Sophia to stay close to her and nurse her the way that Sophia seemed naturally inclined to do for the aunt that she practically viewed as some kind of hero.

Despite the practical Utopia of the CDC, though, there were some things about it that just didn’t quite sit right for Daryl.

Daryl found Jenner studying over his computers in what he could only consider the main room of the CDC—at least, it seemed it had once been the main room of this lower level, and that was all the lay of the land that Daryl really had for the time being.

“Everything to your liking, Mr. Dixon?” Jenner asked when he became aware of Daryl’s presence. Daryl didn’t miss that the man immediately reached up and turned off the monitor to the computer where he was studying. 

“Them blood tests come back OK?” Daryl asked.

“Nothing too unexpected or surprising,” Jenner said. “All things considered…”

“That mean that there was some anticipated problems?” Daryl asked.

“Nothing, really,” Jenner said. “Nothing to be concerned about. A little thing here or there, but…”

“Nothing fatal?” Daryl asked.

Jenner smiled to himself and Daryl felt his stomach tighten. 

“Nothing I’d worry too much about,” Jenner said.

“You see—that’s what concerns me the most, I think,” Daryl said. Jenner hummed at him in question. He got to his feet. He tried to do so smoothly—nonchalantly. There were few things in life that were more awkward than a person who was trying to look relaxed when they were anything but relaxed. Daryl felt his hair stand up slightly in recognition of Jenner’s movements. “You don’t seem too concerned about anything.”

“What is there to be concerned about?” 

“You ain’t been outside lately.”

“There’s no reason to go outside,” Jenner said.

“Except—you say the food, the drink, all that…you say we got enough to last forever.” Jenner nodded. “I don’t need a medical degree to know that—food don’t last forever. And if there’s more comin’? It’s gotta come from somewhere. It’s gotta get in somehow. Is the government sendin’ us more food?” 

Jenner laughed. There was a distinct sound of nervousness in his laughter that made Daryl’s stomach tighten. Daryl walked around, taking in every aspect of the room, but always keeping some slight awareness of the location of Jenner. Jenner moved around, too, but his only interest seemed to be in keeping a certain distance from Daryl. That caught Daryl’s attention, too. Jenner obviously read Daryl as a physical threat. That was nothing new. In Daryl’s life, being read that way had come in handy more than once, especially in some of the situations in which his brother had landed him. Daryl knew, though, that nobody bothered to read him as a physical threat unless they had done—or were planning to do—something that they thought might lead him to physically threaten them.

“You don’t answer,” Daryl offered a long beat of silence. “This is new. What is this?” 

Daryl stared at the numbers on the digital readout on the wall. They ticked, second by second, downward. He knew it was a timer—it had to be. The only thing he wasn’t sure of was exactly what the timer represented.

“It’s nothing, really,” Jenner said.

Daryl smiled to himself.

“It’s countin’ down,” Daryl said. “What the hell I wanna know is—what’s it countin’ down to?” 

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It was something of a rude awakening. Daryl had come rushing through the rooms they were starting to consider home and raised the alarm. They were to grab what they could, and meet him in the computer room where Jenner normally haunted the space and did whatever it was that CDC scientists did when they were the last of their kind.

There was something going on, but Daryl didn’t share that information with them—not right away. He only let them know that it was urgent and they should immediately do what he asked. The tone of his voice was enough to get everyone to comply even without explanation.

Carol wrapped her arm around Sophia and walked quickly with the girl. Sophia carried her few precious belongings, and Carol carried her own bag. Sophia kept looking over her shoulder, but Carol assured her that Dale had Andrea, and he would make sure that she kept pace with the rest of them as they rushed through the hallways.

They spilled out into the computer room, all of them with questions pinballing through their minds and hanging on their lips. It was Rick that finally voiced the concerns of all of them.

“Tell ‘em just what the hell you told me,” Daryl insisted.

Carol listened in disbelief as Jenner explained to them that the CDC was, as they had predicted, the last stronghold of the government. It was also a place that was full of medical horrors that they couldn’t even imagine. In the event of a catastrophe—a true world catastrophe like the one in which they currently found themselves—it was wired with a failsafe. It would continue to function until the last possible minute, and then it would self-destruct.

The clock on the wall, to which none of them had really been paying attention, had been counting down to that moment—the final one. 

When the CDC self-destructed, it would take them all with it. In the matter of a few blazing hot seconds, everything and everyone would be incinerated at temperatures so high that not even the germs themselves could survive.

Carol’s own voice sounded foreign to her as she begged for her daughter’s life. 

Everyone’s voice sounded distant—like they were all underwater in a fish tank of sorts—as they responded to Jenner’s death sentence. The indistinguishable cacophony only got louder when the heavy doors closed to lock them into this room—the room where they would all die.

Carol was shaking and holding onto Sophia. She was aware that Daryl, in a desperate attempt to save them, was trying to break through the steel door with a fireman’s ax. 

“Don’t you understand?” Jenner said. “It’s better this way. It’s better for all of you. In a matter of seconds, it’s all over. It’s a death so fast that there is no pain. No suffering. Only oblivion. What is there for you out there? From what we can tell, the virus—whatever it actually is—had a perfect spread record. Every living human being was infected. Is infected. There’s no escaping it. You die out there. And when you die, you change. You become one of them. You die, and then you kill. Here? Death is fast. Easy. There’s nothing.”

Carol heard Shane arguing that they had the right to choose how they lived and died. She seconded his words and heard the others agree. They begged for their lives. 

Somehow, someone must have gotten through to Jenner because he opened the heavy metal door. He freed their passage. 

“You’ll never make it,” he said as his parting words to all of them.

But they had to try.

Carol didn’t hesitate. Daryl yelled at her to move the moment that the door slid open. She ran without thinking—dragging Sophia with her and holding on tight enough to her daughter’s arm that Sophia complained about the discomfort. She wasn’t willing to risk the possibility that anything could separate them with a clock ticking down to the second when they would lose their lives in a blaze.

As they spilled out the staircase into the ground floor lobby, everyone threw themselves into the struggle of trying to break the windows through which they could see sunshine, freedom, and life. The windows weren’t made of regular glass, and they simply sent chairs and everything else bouncing back toward those who tried to break them.

“It’s not working! We gotta have something better! Stronger!” 

Carol’s breathing was loud in her ears. Her heart was pounding. The blood rushing by her ears sounded like roaring. She’d never been so overcome with adrenaline in her entire life. With shaky hands, she fumbled in her bag for something she’d tucked there—something she’d felt the need to take, at the time that she took it, without even understanding why.

“I have something,” she managed to get out as her hand closed around it.

“Carol—we’re gonna need more than a nailfile,” Rick growled at her. She ignored him.

The grenade was heavy in her hand. She pulled it free and thrust it toward Shane who was standing near her. 

“I took it,” she said. “When Rick first came to camp. It was in his pocket.” 

Nobody asked her about her decision to steal the grenade—nor her decision to keep it. Instead, Shane rushed the grenade over to where Daryl was trying, in vain, to beat the windows out with the ax he was still carrying. 

Carol got down on the ground, like everyone else, when they yelled at her to do so. She covered Sophia’s body with her own, blocking her daughter’s ears with her hands, and guarding her head with her chest. The explosion was deafening, and Carol wondered if her ears would ever stop ringing. She felt dizzy, at first, but recovered quickly—the adrenaline was still driving her. She got to her feet and pulled Sophia after her as soon as her hearing cleared just enough for her to hear Daryl yelling at her to go.

“Mama! Mama!” Sophia screamed at her, as Carol dragged her toward the blown-out window, her internal clock aware of how little time they must have left. “Where’s Andrea? Mama! Where’s Andrea?” 

Carol looked around. Admittedly, until now, her only concern had been to save her daughter.

“Daryl—Andrea?” 

“She’s comin’!” Daryl barked at Carol. “Go on—get out. Go for the truck. Don’t’cha look back.” 

“Daryl?” Carol asked as he practically pushed her out the window. She didn’t have much time to argue, though, and she knew there was no need to waste time discussing things. Her job was clear. She had to get Sophia out of the building and to the truck. She hit the ground, dragging Sophia after her. As soon as she could get to her feet, she pulled Sophia up and ran, pushing her daughter toward the truck. She had no weapon against the Walkers that were coming, drawn by the sound of the explosion. She had nothing but the desperate need to get Sophia to safety.

Somehow, it was enough. She practically stuffed Sophia into the truck’s cab and climbed in after her. She kicked a Walker back as it reached the door and slammed the door shut. She pulled her daughter into her lap despite the cramped space and hugged her as tightly as she could.

“Where’s Daddy? Where’s Andrea?” 

Carol shushed Sophia. Even as she did so, she saw Daryl making the wild run across the lawn of the CDC with long strides. He flung what he was carrying into the back of the truck seconds before he yanked the door open, jumped inside, and slammed it back. Immediately, he wrapped his arms around Carol and Sophia both, pulling them down, together, toward his lap to cover them with his body.

The CDC would explode. They knew that. There was no getting out of there before it did. All they could do was hope that the explosion left their vehicles intact.

“Where’s Andrea?” Carol asked, peeking out of the window as much as she could. People were scrambling toward vehicles. “Daryl? Where’s Andrea?” Daryl was completely silent. He said nothing. He acted as though he couldn’t hear her—something that was actually possible since he’d been closer to the grenade when it had gone off in the building.

She felt his muscles relax slightly, though. At that precise moment, she saw what made them relax. 

Dale hopped down from the window and Andrea hopped after him, into his arms. Together, arms locked, they ran for the vehicles. 

“She made it,” Daryl said, breathing out a sigh. “She’s OK. She’s out. She made it.” 

“Andrea?” Sophia asked, not complaining about her position, practically crushed under Carol and Daryl both.

“She’s alright, sweetheart,” Carol assured her daughter.

She jerked when the explosion happened—unexpected to them all without a clock to keep track of the seconds ticking down. Carol buried her face against Sophia and Daryl pressed down on her. Still, the truck was still standing and, when she sat up, so were all the other vehicles. 

For a moment, they sat, all of them shaking, and watched the burning remnants of what had once been the CDC—the last monument of civilization as they’d known it, perhaps. 

Ahead, Shane moved his vehicle and, taking the lead, started to lead them out of Atlanta in a somber caravan. Everyone followed.

They didn’t know where they were going—not exactly—but they couldn’t stay here. Atlanta was gone. The world, as they knew it, was gone.

There was nowhere else to go except onward.


	23. Chapter 23

AN: Here we are, another chapter here.

I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! 

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“It’s structurally sound enough for a couple nights,” Daryl said. 

“Agreed,” Shane said, looking around. 

The farmhouse wasn’t Buckingham Palace and it wouldn’t have been their first pick if the possibilities had been endless, but it was fine for now. It had some of the things they needed most for the time being. It was close to a creek, had a manual pump indicating the presence of an underground well, and it would do a decent job of keeping the elements—and the Walkers—off of them while they figured out what the hell to do next.

The place had been damaged, though, by a fire. Without some kind of forensic background—or whatever the hell would have made him an expert in such things—Daryl couldn’t very well tell what it was, exactly, that had caused the fire or what had put it out. He couldn’t say why it had happened. A decent guess, though, was that a fire had been burning in the fireplace of an upstairs bedroom and, for whatever reason, the people who had been there left without putting it out. Some of the flame had clearly escaped to the floor, though it clearly hadn’t been an engulfing blaze. It had only burned up one wall, and there was damage to the ceiling that extended into the attic. It had burned up to the roof, but only in what appeared to have been a straight column that took out a small section of the roof. The lack of more extensive damage led Daryl to believe that it had been raining when the fire began to spread—and the rain had taken care of extinguishing it.

“We keep people outta that one room an’ it oughta be fine. Don’t see too much structural damage elsewhere. Second floor ain’t cavin’ in, at least.” 

“I think it’s still a good idea to keep the majority of our people on the first floor,” Dale offered. “Just in case.”

“You won’t hear no complaint from me,” Daryl said. “We’ll pull them mattresses down. Anything else that’ll make a decent bed. Block off the livin’ room for a living area. Turn the rest of the downstairs into sleepin’ spaces.”

“How do we decide who gets what space?” Rick asked.

“We all get all the damned spaces,” Daryl said with a laugh. “There ain’t but so damn much room. We drag them mattresses in to sleep on and whoever’s sleepin’ gets to sleep on ‘em. Don’t worry—you gonna get yours just as much as any damn body else.” 

“Do you have something to say to me, Daryl? Because we really don’t have time for this kind of ongoing hostility.” 

“I got plenty to say to your ass,” Daryl said. “Problem is that I don’t got the time. Like you said—we don’t got tons of time. We gotta get dry wood, Rick. For a fire in the fireplace downstairs. We gotta get water for drinkin’ an’ bathin’. Gotta set up space for sleepin’. And since I’m the only damn one of us that seems capable of hittin’ the broad side of a barn with a bullet, I gotta see if I can’t get us some meat to stretch what lil’ bit of food we got left as long as we can possibly stretch it. Then—maybe—if I ain’t too damned tired, I’ll entertain you with sayin’ all the hell I got to say.” 

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“Mama…” Sophia said.

“Shhhh,” Carol breathed out, shushing her before she could begin to worry too much or too loudly. She smoothed Sophia’s hair down and adjusted the blanket over her. She leaned and kissed her forehead. “Go to sleep, sweetheart.” 

“But—how long are we gonna stay here?” Sophia asked.

“Until it’s time to leave,” Carol said. “Don’t worry about that now, OK? You just get some sleep.” 

“Are you leaving?” Sophia asked, trying to sit up again. Carol tucked her and her doll—one of the few possessions she’d saved from the CDC—back into the bed on the floor once more. 

“I’m only going to the other room,” Carol said. “With your Daddy and Andrea. But we’ll be in here soon to sleep.”

“You’ll sleep with me?” Sophia asked.

Carol hummed. 

“Right there. On that mattress. With your Daddy. And Andrea’s going to snuggle right here with you, OK? But you go ahead and get some sleep, sweetheart. Close your eyes. We’re safe here.” 

Sophia seemed to relax a little more with the promise that they were safe and the careful explanation of how the night would unfold. She was just a child, and this was all terribly overwhelming—even for the adults. She liked having some clear idea of what was coming next, even if it was only an idea of what would fill the next few hours. 

Carol kissed Sophia’s forehead one more time and then she got up from her spot on the edge of the mattress. She eased out the door, leaving the camping lantern burning that would act as a nightlight for Sophia and Lori’s son, Carl. 

In the living room, all the adults were crowded into the tight space. There had been a bit of conversation going on since they’d finished eating and shared weak coffee that was truly little more than slightly dirty hot water.

They were working out the basics—who would keep watch and in what order, mostly, was the main topic of discussion. Or, at least it had been when Carol had taken Sophia to tuck her in.

They’d all bathed in shifts—mostly sponging off with water heated over the fire—and now everyone was mostly quiet with only a few tossed words being exchanged here and there.

“We can’t stay here long,” Rick mused.

“With the hole in the damn roof, Rick, I don’t think anybody planned to move in for good,” Shane grumbled. 

Irritation was palpable in the space. Everyone was tired. They were exhausted. The CDC felt like it had happened a long time ago, but in actuality their ears were still ringing from the morning’s explosion. 

“How long will we stay?” Lori asked.

“A few days,” Shane said. 

“Is it safe to stay here a few days?” Lori asked.

“If you’re worried about the roof, it won’t cave in,” Dale offered. “We all looked at it. The damage is only in that one small area.”

“From the looks of it, it didn’t burn long,” Glenn added. 

“I’m worried about those creatures,” Lori said. “Walkers.”

“We’re a lot safer in here than we are out there,” Daryl said. 

“And then what?” Rick asked. “We spend a few days here and where do we go next?” 

“I guess you got a great idea that you about to share with us?” Daryl asked, lighting a cigarette.

“Jenner said that they lost contact with everyone,” Rick said. “Just because they lost contact doesn’t mean that we’re the only people left.”

“I guaran-damn-tee you that we ain’t the only people left,” Daryl said. “That’s one of the things that worries me about as damn much as them Walkers—if not more.” 

“There could be strength in numbers,” Rick said. “Survival.”

“Or we could be walking into a trap,” Shane said. “Look—we tried the CDC. We damn near didn’t make it out alive, Rick. We need time to get over that. Regroup. We need a couple days to get our heads on straight. Then we move on.” 

“To where?” Lori asked.

“Somewhere that ain’t the damned CDC,” Daryl said. “Somewhere we can—hole up for the winter. Try to scratch out some kinda damn life for ourselves.”

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On the one hand, Andrea would’ve been proud of him. He hadn’t had drugs since he’d woken up feeling like death. No matter how damn much he’d wanted to die since then, he hadn’t had any drugs. At least, he hadn’t had anything stronger than the shit the doctor gave him to aid in the healing of his hand. 

Merle didn’t like to take much for pain. Really, he preferred to feel the pain. The pain, at least, gave him something to feel—something to think about—that wasn’t the pain in his chest.

He’d been sorry to see Amy’s corpse when he’d unwrapped the cloth that had been bound around her. She’d been a decent kid, really, even if she was a bit of a brat sometimes. He hated knowing she ended up in a hole with her neck torn out and her brains blown clean out of her skull. 

But he had felt relief enough that he’d nearly passed out when he realized that it wasn’t Andrea decaying in that sheet. 

He didn’t know where the hell she was, and he may never know where the hell she was, but at least she wasn’t in a hole at the camp. As long as he knew she wasn’t there, he could imagine that, somewhere, she was alive.

He felt like she had to be alive. Maybe it was just some kind of infection-fever-induced insanity, but Merle had a feeling that he would just fucking know if Andrea was gone. He felt like something in him would know. It would notice her absence in the universe.

“Like a disturbance in the Force?” Alice, the doctor had asked him when he’d tried to explain his feelings in the truck—both of them looking for something to distract them from the fact that they’d just desecrated a grave together. Merle had admitted it was a stupid fucking idea, but the doctor had said that she’d never said it was stupid and, maybe, it was possible.

She said she was willing to believe that soul mates, or whatever Merle wanted to use as his terminology of choice, might be connected on an emotional level that transcended all rational knowledge of space and time.

She told him she was sure that Andrea was out there somewhere and, whether she really believed it or not, it made Merle feel better. It made him somewhat fond of the brunette doctor, too, that she’d humor him in such a way. 

Whether or not he ever saw her again, he simply felt better to think that he was still living in the same damn world as Andrea. Admittedly, though, he wasn’t entirely crazy about the idea of continuing living in this shitty existence.

But he didn’t believe in offing himself—at least not in the traditional sense.

Andrea might be proud of him that he’d given up the drugs, but he hadn’t given up booze. In fact, Merle drank more now than he’d probably ever drank in his whole life.

In Woodbury, the rules were simple. Every damn body had some way to contribute. Maybe you were just the person who handed shit out where they got their rations, or maybe you were the person who cooked food to hand out, but every damn body did something. You contributed. You earned your keep. And each person did the job to which they were best suited.

The Governor had declared that he saw a great deal of potential in Merle—that was one damn thing that nobody, before him, had ever seen. He’d given Merle a job as something of a right-hand man, which was pretty damn ironic considering that Merle lacked a right hand entirely at this point.

Merle’s jobs involved a lot of Walker disposal and Walker handling. The messier, rowdier Walkers, he killed. He kept them from bunching their asses up, along with others who also cleared the Walkers, in areas where they might threaten the walls of Woodbury. The ones that were easier to handle, he helped cage. Caged walkers had their teeth and fingernails removed. Basically, they were rendered harmless. They could put on a good show, but they really couldn’t follow through with anything. Several nights a week—and any time that morale seemed to drop for one reason or another—like old fashioned gathering to watch a demolition derby or something of the like, the people of Woodbury could go to the fights where they watched people battle it out with the harmless Walkers until, ultimately, the creatures were killed.

Most of the people seemed to enjoy the fights, and Merle didn’t give too much of a shit about what the hell people did to bother passing judgement. He enjoyed the fights, himself. He fought some of the Walkers, voluntarily. It wasn’t part of his job—he just liked blowing off steam by being given permission to beat the absolute hell out of the creatures.

There would be more to his job, he’d been promised that much, but the Governor was giving him time to settle in. Soon, he’d be leading scouting parties to look for supplies and families to welcome back to Woodbury. For now, though, he was expected to hang close to the community.

Merle figured it was because the Governor wasn’t sure if he was a danger to himself right now. What the hell the man didn’t know was that Merle had always been a fucking danger to himself. The only thing, arguably, that had kept him alive this damn long was Andrea.

He liked to believe she was alive somewhere—even if he never saw her ass again.

Merle spent his off-hours drinking. Sometimes it was beer. Sometimes it was whiskey. Sometimes it was the potent corn liquor brewed by one of the residents.

It didn’t matter to Merle what it was as long as it provided him at least a momentary escape from the pain.

The pounding on the door was loud and hard so that Merle would be sure to hear it, even if he might have been well on his way to being passed out by now. 

“What is it?” He called, not wanting to get off the bed. 

Merle’s apartment was in what had once been a small motel in Woodbury. All the rooms were small—a bed, a table and two chairs, a dresser with a television that didn’t work because it pulled too much electricity from the grid, a nightstand, and a small bathroom that did work.

It suited Merle just fine for all the use he had for it.

“Merle? Open up.”

Merle recognized the Governor’s voice. He got up, grabbed a cigarette and his lighter, and walked to the door. He threw it open, blinked against the blinding light of the outside—it was his day off, and he had nowhere to be—and he focused on lighting his cigarette. It was hell to do it left-handed, but he was learning. 

Dixons were fucking adaptable if nothing else.

“What’s up? Somethin’ goin’ down?” 

“All’s quiet on the western front,” the Governor said with a smile. “I was concerned about you, though. Nobody saw you at breakfast.” 

Merle scratched at his bare chest. 

“I prefer to drink my breakfast some days,” he said. “Somethin’ like a corn smoothie. Liquid diets an’ shit—they all the rage.” 

“Somehow I believe that the nutritional intake of your chosen breakfast is something that Alice would find lacking,” the Governor said.

“She’d find somethin’ to bitch about,” Merle said. “One of my services is makin’ it easy for her. What can I do for you?” 

“I’m concerned about you.” 

“Don’t be. I don’t need nobody hoverin’ over my ass. I been weaned a while. I only like tits for recreational purposes these days.” 

“I didn’t think you needed anyone to hover or mother you. Still—you could use a little cheering up. I’ve got something I want to show you.” 

“Unless it’s some kinda direct order, I’ma pass,” Merle said. 

The Governor laughed to himself.

“Then consider it a direct order, Merle,” the man said. “Get a shirt. You haven’t even seen half of Woodbury, and you shouldn’t spend your whole day inside with the curtains closed. Come on—we’re going for a walk.”

Merle growled to himself, but accepted that the man wasn’t leaving and, if he did, he’d only send Alice up to bother him next. He didn’t say anything, he simply went after a clean shirt.


	24. Chapter 24

AN: Here we are, another chapter here.

Just a quick reminder that I’m reimagining things, so what you’ve seen on screen may have nothing to do with some of what happens here. 

I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! 

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“You’ve met my daughter,” the Governor said. 

Merle kept close to the same pace as the man, not really caring if the Governor outwalked him by half a stride as they made their way through Woodbury.

“Penny?” Merle responded, rubbing his eyes and wishing the sun wasn’t half as bright as it was.

“I only have one,” the Governor said with a laugh. 

“To be honest, I met her, but I ain’t paid that much attention to know she was your only one,” Merle said. “No offense to your kid, but…I’ve kinda had my own shit to think about.” 

“That’s partially why we’re taking this walk,” the Governor said. “You’re a good guy, Merle, and one of the best people we’ve got in Woodbury…”

Merle laughed to himself, nearly choking on the laughter.

“I’ll take shit you don’t hear every damn day for a fuckin’ grand, Alex,” Merle mused, reaching in his pocket for his cigarettes and lighter and, as he did about a thousand times a day, silently cursing the asshole that had taken every damn thing from him—his hand being, really, the very least of the things he’d lost to the dickhead.

“Penny was only five when her mother died in a car accident,” the Governor said. “A few years ago.”

“Shit,” Merle said. “I’m sorry. I just figured—she didn’t make it through…all this shit. Not that that makes it any better…”

“I was at work,” the Governor said. Merle looked around. He got the feeling that they were going somewhere, but they were purposefully taking the most meandering route possible to get there. He accepted that. He didn’t really give a shit, anyway, where they were going. He was only following the Governor because they had him under some kind of neighborhood watching thing lately, so if he didn’t come out of his room on non-workdays for enough time, someone was outside his door—usually Alice or the Governor. It was easier just to humor them. “It was a terrible job. I worked in an office. Nothing like my life now. I hardly ever saw the sun. It was dark when I got there most mornings, dark when I left, and there weren’t any windows if you didn’t have the corner offices.”

“Sounds like what the hell I spent my whole fuckin’ life avoidin’,” Merle mused.

“I got the call from the hospital in the middle of my workday,” the Governor said. “The whole world just stopped. She was already gone. They wanted me to come and positively identify the body, though it was just a formality.”

Merle’s stomach ached for the man simply because he could mentally put himself in that position. He could imagine, though he didn’t want to, what it would feel like to hear those kinds of words coming at him from over the phone.

“Sorry,” Merle said, the word sticking in his throat. It sounded like nothing to him—and he was sure it felt like nothing to the man walking beside him. Words were empty, sometimes. The Governor nodded his acceptance of the words and, maybe, his thanks for what they were worth. Merle expected no more than that.

“The worst part about it was—she’d called earlier and I’d been busy. I’d put her through to record a message so I could keep working. I listened to it after they called. While I was just sitting there—sitting with it. My whole—destroyed world. She asked me to call her back. I hadn’t called her back, and then she was just gone.”

Merle swallowed against the uncomfortable scratch of his throat—it felt like he’d been chewing up briars and swallowing them. Suddenly, he wished for water.

“Last time I saw her, before I left the camp, I told Andrea—I loved her,” Merle said. He laughed to himself. “Told her—not to worry about me because…it fucked up her face.” 

“At least you got to tell her you loved her,” the Governor offered, “and didn’t leave her talking to a machine. I can’t even remember if I told her I loved her that morning. She was getting Penny ready for kindergarten and I was running late. She was late. Everything seemed so important. At least—Andrea knew you loved her. You know she knew.” 

“She ain’t dead,” Merle said quickly and sharply. “I’m sorry. I really am. Sorry you lost your wife and—that’s a fucked-up way for shit to go down. But my Andrea—she ain’t dead.” 

Merle felt the tension in his body. He realized, from the very slight shift in the Governor’s expression, that he had noticed the accidental aggression in Merle’s tone. His features softened quickly—evidence that he was going to ignore it. He didn’t want conflict and, honestly, Merle had heard plenty about getting his emotions out from everyone that seemed to make it their business to try to look out for him. It was one of the reasons that nobody stopped him when he wanted to sign up to fight the harmless Walkers—Biters, to the Governor—when they stepped into the arena to entertain the people of Woodbury.

“Maybe she’s not,” the Governor ceded. “Maybe she’s—out there somewhere. Moved on a long way from here by now, but…alive.”

Merle’s chest ached. His stomach hurt. He wanted something to hit. Something to twist, and tear, and break. He wanted to run, and scream, and tire his body out until he collapsed. He wanted to feel his hands hurt and his muscles ache from exertion. He wanted anything besides the gnawing, clawing, terrible hurt that felt like it was constantly ripping him open from the inside out.

He wanted Andrea, but he’d accept something to distract him from the pain.

“That’s all that fuckin’ matters,” he said. “Wherever the hell she is, she’s alive.”

“I seem to have gotten off track from what I wanted to say,” the Governor said.

“Then get back on track or let me be,” Merle said. “I got shit to do.” 

The Governor laughed to himself.

“Sit in your room and drink until you pass out?” He asked. “Again?” He added.

“You police the way every damn body spends their time?” Merle asked.

“I’m concerned about the wellbeing of everybody in Woodbury,” the Governor said. He stopped his steps—or at least he slowed them enough that Merle understood they’d finish this conversation before they ever reached any kind of destination, though they’d really been practically walking in circles. “The people here are good people. They’re my people. We’re—a family. In many cases, we’re all we have left. When my wife died, it was just me and Penny. In some ways, I’ve found more in this world than I had in the world before. We’re your family now, Merle. And we care about you.” 

“I got a family,” Merle said. “I may not know where the hell they are, and I might not ever fuckin’ see ‘em again, but…I got a family.” 

“You do,” the Governor said. “And that makes you luckier than most of the people here. No man is an island, Merle. We need people. We need each other. You’re an asset to Woodbury and to the people here. And I consider you—something of a friend.” 

Merle laughed to himself and the Governor made an expression of question. Merle knew it was meant to prompt him to explain his laughter in what was clearly meant to be a touching moment.

“I don’t even know your damn name,” Merle said. “And although I ain’t against usin’ nicknames in the slightest—give ‘em to damn near everybody—I prefer to know what the hell the person’s real name is ‘fore I consider ‘em my bosom pal.” 

The Governor laughed to himself. He started walking again. Merle followed.

“We’re concerned about you, Merle,” the Governor said. They’d veered down one of the side streets of Woodbury. The walls they’d put up hadn’t swallowed the entire town. The walls had only encircled the downtown area and enough of the residential surrounding areas that they could provide housing and some space for growing crops and raising a very limited supply of livestock. Slowly, they were making plans to further expand the walls—building walls on the outside and, eventually, taking down those that separated them. In this way, they could encompass more land, provide more opportunities for growth, and give those that lived there more space to move around.

Merle had hardly even taken account of what there was in Woodbury. His interests kept him going to places that were necessities for him—home, work, and to pick up food and other supplies.

He followed the Governor into a building. What it had been before all of this, Merle didn’t care to imagine. What it was now was obvious—a bar and café type setting. Merle furrowed his brow at the Governor.

“Nearly everyone comes here on their time off,” the Governor said. “Get a drink, a bite to eat—share some conversation. Be among friends.” 

“Lovely,” Merle said. 

The Governor waved him forward and walked with him. The space was made up of several rooms and there was an upstairs to the business. 

“A lot of people have lost everyone and everything,” the Governor continued. “They come here to—to feel some connection.” 

“Good thing you got ‘em a place to go,” Merle mused.

The Governor seemed slightly amused. As they walked, people called out to him, got his attention, and seemed pleased with a wave from him. He was nothing short of a celebrity in Woodbury since most everyone who lived there had some story about how the Governor or, at the very least, his people, had saved them from the world outside the walls.

“I know what it’s like to feel guilt, Merle,” the Governor said, keeping his voice low and making it clear that they were sharing something of a secret. “I know what it’s like to feel—like you owe homage to something from your past. But nothing requires you to be isolated and alone. We all benefit from a little company.” He gestured toward the people around them. “You’re an important figure in Woodbury, Merle. And you can be as popular as you like. I recommend getting to know some of the locals.” 

The Governor put on one of his award-winning political smiles, as Merle often thought of them, and waved toward some women sitting in the corner. When he signaled his interest in speaking to them, they came like children being beckoned—pleased to have his attention.

“Rebecca and…?”

“Sarah,” the woman who had been unnamed offered quickly. 

“Sarah,” the Governor repeated. “This is Merle.” 

“Everyone knows Merle,” Rebecca said with a laugh.

“I was just telling him something similar. He’s lonely and could use a little cheering up,” the Governor said. “And it’s a beautiful day—I’d enjoy some company on a walk. I was thinking of taking Penny to play at the playground, if either of you ladies might be interested.” 

Merle opened his mouth to protest the Governor’s insistence that he was lonely and wanted or needed the company of anybody in Woodbury. Before he could do too much protesting, though, Sarah had attached herself to the Governor and Rebecca had wrapped her hands around the upper part of Merle’s arm in a somewhat overly familiar gesture. She was already tugging him toward an empty table in the corner while Sarah began tugging the Governor toward the door.

“Wait just a minute,” Merle said. “Listen—why don’t you just go…sit or something?” Rebecca accepted Merle’s suggesting, clearly believing he was soon to follow her. The Governor, understanding that Merle wanted to talk to him, sent Sarah to wait for him out front. He turned back to Merle and laughed to himself. “I get it. Maybe brunettes aren’t your thing. But, if brunettes aren’t your interest, there are plenty of wonderful women in Woodbury. Most of them are single, Merle. Widows or—they were alone to begin with. There are plenty to get to know.” 

“I ain’t lookin’ for a wife,” Merle said.

“There’s no need to marry any of them,” the Governor offered. “I’m not talking about marriage, Merle. I’m talking about—companionship. Getting out of your room. Hell—drinking with someone instead of drinking alone.” 

“I’m married,” Merle said. “And I don’t think my wife would like me huntin’ up too much companionship, if you know what I mean.” 

The Governor nodded. 

“It’s Philip,” he said. 

“What?” 

“You said you expected to know my name before you considered me a friend. Philip. Merle—I know how hard it is to accept. Your whole life gets—destroyed—in an instant. But if Andrea was everything you say she is? She wouldn’t expect you to be alone forever. Life is short, and company makes even the mourning easier.” 

Merle frowned at him and Philip reached out a hand and patted him on the shoulder. 

“We do what we have to do to get through it,” he said. “It’s about distraction, not commitment. And it’s a healthier distraction than the alcohol, Merle. Saves your liver, too. I’m going to get Penny. At least—consider it over lunch. A little lunch conversation never hurt anybody. If I don’t see you later, I’ll see you for work in the morning.” 

He walked off, leaving Merle to digest the conversation and to face the woman that was sitting at an empty table, watching him—and she certainly wasn’t the only woman in the space that seemed willing to invite him to have a seat.


	25. Chapter 25

AN: Here we are, another chapter here. 

I think most everyone missed the last chapter, so if you did, please don’t forget to go and read it first.

I hope you enjoy! Don’t forget to let me know what you think! 

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“If it comes down to it, we walk,” Daryl said. 

“We just leave?” Carol asked. 

“If it turns into that,” Daryl said. “Listen—I don’t wanna leave. I want to keep that until it’s the last possible solution we got. This shit’s been hell, I don’t see it gettin’ any better for a while as far as the Walkers go, and I’m worried about Andrea not havin’ the spirit to fight half as damn hard as I know she can if she’s got her chin up. Shane wants what the hell we want—find some place and build somethin’ to ride this thing out. If we’re stuck, we might as well be stuck as damn comfortable as we can be.”

“A farm,” Carol said, echoing what they’d discussed previously. 

The night was quiet, and Daryl was on watch. Carol was supposed to be sleeping, but she was huddled near him on the old porch of the farmhouse where they were currently staying. For now, it was plenty warm enough that Carol didn’t need any kind of jacket, and neither did Daryl. At night, the temperature dropped slightly, but it wasn’t cold. Not yet. They had to start thinking about that, though.

Carol leaned against Daryl for comfort rather than warmth.

“We’ll find a place. Maybe we’ll find a couple of abandoned farms together,” Daryl said. “That’s the best thing we could find. It’ll take a while of keepin’ watch in turns and workin’ to get fences up, but eventually we could surround the place. Improve the system little by little, you know? We’ll hunt up what supplies, food, and meat we can before winter. Build smokehouses and store meat to stretch whatever we find in stores. Maybe it ain’t perfect this winter, and maybe we all go without a little, but if we keep improving the fences, they ought to keep the Walkers out. And when the spring comes, we can do what people have done for fuckin’ centuries. We plant. We grow food.”

Carol burrowed comfortably into Daryl’s side and hugged against him. He closed his eyes, for a moment, to the comfort of her presence. He turned his head enough to kiss her forehead.

“You make it sound like—we could really have a life in all of this.”

“We could,” Daryl said. “Carol—we can live OK until this thing passes. We play our cards right? We can live better’n OK. We can live good. Might struggle at first, but we can pull outta that. There ain’t no reason our life’s gotta be terrible. Hell—it might even be better than it was. We might not even wanna go back when it passes.”

“What if it doesn’t pass?” Carol asked with a hint of humor to her voice.

“Then we live OK until this is just the way that everybody lives,” Daryl said. “We just—accept this is our life. Maybe we’ll like it that way. Have us a place to live. Food to eat. Safe walls and fences. We’ll have everything we need.”

“Can we build all that alone?” Carol asked.

“Homesteaders and shit did,” Daryl said. “Fuck—we’re Dixons. We’re every bit as tough as any of them were, aren’t we?”

“It would be good if we had more people, though,” Carol said.

“That’s why I don’t wanna split off from the group until it’s clear that it can’t be helped. The whole damn thing is gonna go about a thousand times smoother if we’ve got a bunch of hands. Besides—wouldn’t be terrible to have some people around. Not if they’re decent people, and not if they’re interested in buildin’ what the hell we want.”

“Who’s interested?” Carol asked.

“Everybody wants to find somethin’,” Daryl said. “There ain’t no damn body that’s too dumb to know that this movin’ around like nomads can’t last but so long. We ain’t built that way. Maybe we could be, but…it ain’t no kinda livin’. And, anyway, the cold’ll catch us sooner or later and somebody’s gonna freeze to death sleepin’ in a car or in a fallin’ down barn. Dale and Glenn—they’ll go either way. T and Jacqui will too.”

“Rick?” 

“He’s bound ass and determined that the government has some secret stronghold set up somewhere and if we make it there the whole damn land’ll flow with milk and honey, or whatever.”

Carol giggled and rubbed her face against Daryl’s arm. She was tired, and she really should be sleeping.

“Isn’t the vision of building something so—so wonderful—a little like that? We’re going in search of the land of milk and honey?” 

“Big damn difference is I got the sense to know the government ain’t got shit to offer us. What he’s talkin’ about is some government built and government run utopia, and I know there ain’t no damn such thing. What I’m talkin’ about? We find us a couple damn cows, breed ‘em, and find a hive or two and the land will be runnin’ with damn milk and honey. I ain’t talkin’ about a utopia. I’m talkin’ about somethin’ good—great even—that we can build with the strength of our damn backs and the workin’ of our minds.”

“I believe you could build it,” Carol said with a satisfied sigh. “I believe you could make all that happen.”

“For you and Soph? I might not make it happen, but I’d damn sure try.” 

“I love you,” Carol said, snuggling into him. It was impossible for her to get any closer, but with every effort she rubbed against him. He enjoyed the rubbing and the warmth of her body. He loved her affection because it was so freely given and always so genuine.

Daryl had always wanted to be loved just like Carol loved him—it was how he knew, really, that she was perfect for him.

“I love you, too,” he assured her, lighting a cigarette for himself.

“You think Rick’ll come around or—he’s determined to go in search of this government fairy land, Daryl?” 

“Hell if I know,” Daryl said. “He thinks the damned thing is in Washington, D.C. Hell—when’s the last time you ever knew of a single damn thing that was worth anything comin’ outta Washington, D.C.?”

Carol laughed quietly in response to Daryl’s question. It was answer enough.

“What about Shane? You said he wants what we want, but does he want that badly enough to go entirely against Rick?”

“There ain’t a whole lotta love there,” Daryl said. “At least—I get the feelin’ there’s less and less every day.”

“But do you think he’d be willing to break ties with him entirely?” 

“If he don’t wanna go to Washington, D.C. on some crazy ass search for the government funded holy land, he might,” Daryl said.

“I think you’re forgetting one thing, though,” Carol said. Daryl hummed at her in question. “Shane—Shane might not have that much love for Rick, but he’s very fond of Rick’s wife, Lori, and their little boy, Carl. Do you really think he’d be willing to leave them just because he doesn’t want to go on a pilgrimage to D.C.?” 

“He ought to,” Daryl said with a half a shrug. 

“He loves her. He loves Carl. Could you just—leave Sophia and me behind because we wanted to go somewhere crazy?”

There was a heavy dose of teasing in her voice, and Daryl felt it. There was no challenge. The question wasn’t even genuine. She simply wanted to tease him and, perhaps, to prompt him to tell her exactly what he did.

“You know that not a damn thing in the world would convince me to leave you or Sophia,” Daryl said. 

“Not even—if we went somewhere crazy?” 

“I’d follow you through hell, woman,” Daryl said. He laughed to himself. “Because I love you, but…also because I know my ass’d get lost long ‘fore yours would.” 

Carol tried to stifle her amusement and snorted quietly. 

“You might get the chance to be in hell with me,” Carol mused. “I wouldn’t say we’re too far off with the way things currently are.”

“We gonna make it better,” Daryl assured her. He didn’t know exactly how much truth there was behind that statement, and he certainly had no power to promise her such a thing, but he had all the intentions in the world to do everything he could to find some kind of life for his family—somewhere they could do better than just survive, no matter how long all of this might last.

“I don’t think Shane’s going to leave Lori,” Carol said, her sincerity returned. Daryl lifted his arm, dropping it around her, and she snuggled her face against his chest in the same way she’d been snuggling against his arm before.

“Maybe he ain’t ready yet,” Daryl said. “But the fight ain’t fully fought. We’re just throwin’ ideas around. This place—it ain’t structurally sound. I mean it ain’t gonna fall in around us in the next day or two, but it ain’t fit for the long term. We’ll stay here a couple days. Maybe a week. Rest and throw some ideas around while we can keep it pretty well protected. But what we’re lookin’ for—really lookin’ for— is on down the road a bit. We’re entering an area that’s overrun with farms. We want somethin’ good—somethin’ that backs up to some woods if we can find it and has a pond or two at the least. We don’t have to break off today. We can make that decision when we come to it. Decide to let ‘em go when we’re showin’ ‘em the damned promise land and they still can’t see the forest for the trees. If Shane don’t stay then, then he don’t stay. Simple as that.” 

“But we’re going to be OK?” Carol asked.

“Better’n OK,” Daryl said, pulling her tight against him. “I’ma teach you and Sophia—and Andrea—every damn thing you need to know. We’re gonna build somethin’ worth havin’. Now—you ain’t on watch so…why don’t you close your eyes a bit and let me do my job?” 

11111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

Merle sometimes accepted the company of Anna, Sarah, Rebecca, Margot, Jane, or whoever the else wanted to offer some company. He’d share a meal, share a drink, or share a seat when they were watching something happening down at the arena. What he didn’t share, though, was his bed. He thought that might discourage them from following him around like puppies, but it seemed to have the damn opposite effect. The knowing they weren’t getting it seemed like it made them just that more desperate to have it.

Merle would have been flattered if he gave a shit.

What didn’t seem to change with his entertainment of half-hearted company was that Alice and Philip, whom he only called the Governor when other people were listening, were concerned about Merle’s mental well-being. He drank, and he drank heavily, but he decided to limit his day drinking to keep the two of them off his ass. He also decided to come up with something active that would make them sleep better and feel like he was feeling driven by something.

“We have almost everything we need here,” Philip said, sitting with Merle and watching Penny play on the swings some distance from them—far enough away where she wouldn’t be bothered by the concerns of grown-ups, but wouldn’t be out of their sight. Woodbury was safe, and the last Walker there, that hadn’t been rendered harmless, had actually been a senior citizen who died while napping outdoors and got up to walk. Still, Philip was taking no chances with his daughter and he demanded that she remain, at all times, within his sight or within the sight of someone he trusted. “Is there something that you need? Something that you’re not satisfied with, Merle?” 

“I ain’t criticizin’ your town. Hell—you got this place runnin’ like clockwork. People here don’t gotta worry about shit. Except, of course, when the hell the supplies runs out.” 

“We’ve got run parties,” Philip said. Merle hummed at him.

“That shit’s temporary and you know it. Find a can of beans. That’s fine, but you got to find more tomorrow. Bag of jerky? It’ll feed you for a while, but you gonna have to find more. What I’m talkin’ about is somethin’ sustainable. Long term.”

“We’re expanding the fences,” Philip said.

“Great for bringin’ in more people,” Merle said. “Advancin’ the whole idea of buildin’ families—future generations. But most the shit around here is houses. Housing developments. The town. You can plant a couple gardens in a backyard or two and, maybe, you could graze a goat, but it ain’t sustainable. What the hell I’m talkin’ about is actual farming. Livestock grazing. Hell—even maybe look into our own kinda reserve. Get some wild animals livin’ there so the huntin’ don’t never run dry.” 

Philip laughed to himself. He was considering it. Finally, he looked back at Merle.

“You think that people would be willing to leave what we have here to volunteer to work on that? Somebody has to build it.” 

“There’s been city folks and country folks since the dawn of time,” Merle said. “There’s bound to be people that would like. Besides—we can commute until we get walls up. Build some shelter. We make it safe? We’ll find the right damn people to live out there.” 

Philip looked at him, half-amused.

“And who’s going to—find this Eden, Merle? Start the work of getting it going? Find the things we need and the people who would prefer to work hard doing all that over—living in town and waiting for supply runs to bring them what they need?” 

Merle laughed to himself.

“You could leave that shit to me,” he said. “If you trust my ass enough to let me go out huntin’ and doin’ shit on my own.” 

“It’s not a question of trust,” Philip said. “I do hate to lose my right hand around here. What about—matters of security? What about situations with potential new members and potential threats?” 

“You let me do this,” Merle said, “and I promise I’ll still make myself available any time Robinson or somebody else can’t carry the load.”

Philip laughed to himself.

“Are you just—going out there to look for her, Merle?” 

“I’ll look for what we need,” Merle said. “You got my word on that. Help get it built. It don’t hurt, though, to keep an eye open.”


	26. Chapter 26

AN: Here we are, another chapter here. 

I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! 

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Carol was tired and her body ached from exertion, exhaustion, and from poor sleeping positions. 

They’d left the farmhouse, finally deciding that it was time to move on. Each day that they didn’t move on was a day when time caught up with them—and time not preparing, according to Shane, was time that moved them closer to losing a game they could still win.

Shane was, at times, a little dramatic and a little too overzealous, but Carol didn’t disagree with him and neither did Daryl—at least not about this. 

From what they could tell, this was real. This was their reality, and it wasn’t going to change. Unlike Rick, they didn’t believe that the government was hiding somewhere, watching to see what they would do, but always planning to be some kind of benevolent benefactor of sorts that would swoop in and save them in the last moment from being consumed by the world around them. 

Winter was coming and, though the Georgia winters were mild in comparison to some others, they still didn’t need to spend the entire time exposed to the elements and to the Walkers. Winter would also mean that Daryl was less able to hunt game for them to eat. Food would start to become scarce—or, rather, even more scarce—if they didn’t start to put back and prepare as much as possible. 

This wasn’t the end for all of them, but it could be if they spent their time, now, making stupid decisions.

Staying in the farmhouse, when it wasn’t the farmhouse that they intended to turn into a place to stay for the winter, was just wasting time. As soon as they had their breath, they decided to move on. For the time being, Rick was in agreement. Carol suspected, though, that he would agree only so long as they were moving. The moment that they suggested stopping and stocking some place to hole up for the winter, she had no doubt that all the men were going to finally reach their point of disagreement over how they should all proceed.

For now, though, they were making progress.

Sophia rode with Andrea. Carol didn’t mind, since they were both well within her sight as their little caravan proceeded down the almost-empty highway. Sophia was good for Andrea. She forced Andrea, no doubt, to play a little music in the car. Knowing Sophia, she would force Andrea to sing along to some of the words. When she got tired, Sophia would lean—even if it was a bit uncomfortable to herself—to rest her head against Andrea’s shoulder while she drove. Sophia was good at loving people—and she was very good at loving Andrea—and, right now, Andrea desperately needed all the love that anyone had to offer her to help her get through the grief she was struggling to simply carry.

Despite the bright sun of morning, or perhaps late afternoon, the taillights in front of them were bright as the line of cars slowed and then stopped. Daryl stopped the car, too.

“What is it?” Carol asked before she looked up from the book she was glancing at—not really reading—while they rode. 

“Traffic jam,” Daryl said. “Another wreck, it looks like. Cars too bunched up to get through.”

Carol looked up and observed exactly what Daryl had described. 

They’d cleared one wreck, not too far back, that had slowed them down at least twenty minutes. The cars had hit each other, T-boned somehow, and had come to a stop in the middle of the highway. The drivers of both cars were dead and well-rotted, though it was impossible to tell, from the state of decay, if they’d died from the wreck or if they’d been already dying from the disease that caused the Walkers. This wreck was a great deal larger. There were quite a few more cars involved. Her next question might have been whether or not they could simply go around the stilled cars, but she could answer that for herself. Obviously, in the commotion, a number of the cars had tried to go off through the median. They weren’t the four-wheel-drive numbers that might have made it, and the ground had obviously been at least a little muddy the day that they’d tried it, and they were stuck, jamming up that route of escape as much as any other.

Daryl put the car in park and killed the engine. Carol turned around and looked through the rearview mirror. She could see Andrea through the windshield of her car, hands on the steering wheel, looking at her in question. Carol mouthed “wreck” and made a gesture of ramming her two hands together. Andrea made a face of recognition and nodded.

“You think we’ll be able to clear it?” Carol asked.

“I think we don’t got a choice if we don’t wanna backtrack,” Daryl said. “Nearest exit was at least a couple miles back, and then we don’t know where we are.” 

“We’re in farm country, though,” Carol said. “Maybe this is a sign. Maybe we find our farm, Daryl.” 

“Maybe,” Daryl ceded. “Either way, let’s get out and see what there is. Maybe it’s a quick fix. I wouldn’t mind bein’ just a bit further away from Atlanta. Besides—there’s bound to be shit we can use in these cars, and we can siphon off some gas.” 

Carol opened her car door and got out. Following their lead, Andrea and Sophia got out of their car. All around them, their group members were emerging from their vehicles and stretching tired and tight muscles while they took in the sight around them of what they were facing.

Everyone began more or less gravitating toward the cluster of cars.

“How bad is it?” Daryl asked those who were coming from the front of the caravan and who would have likely already had a better look at things.

“It’s not impossible,” Shane said. 

“Half an hour not impossible, or half a day?” Daryl asked.

“Half a day,” T-Dog said before Shane could answer. “Easy.” 

Daryl looked around. 

“Place looks pretty clear,” Daryl said. “Ought to allow us half a day. When it gets later, I’ll take somebody and we’ll find somewhere to make a camp for the night off the highway. When we get clear, we can go straight there, set up camp, and roll on tomorrow.” 

“Or—we backtrack,” Shane said. 

“And what?” Rick asked. “Say we’ll find a different route? End up lost?” 

“How the hell can we be lost, man? We don’t know where the hell we are now,” Shane responded with evident irritation.

“We know what road we’re on,” Rick said. “We know we left Atlanta. Three minutes and a map would tell us where we are.” 

“What the hell does it matter if we get lost? Look around you, Rick. We’re at the end of the world as we know it. We can backtrack a mile or so, find an exit, and get fuckin’ lost, Rick. It doesn’t matter. We’ve got nowhere to be.” 

“The only reason I don’t wanna backtrack,” Daryl interrupted, “is because I’d like a couple more miles between us and Atlanta. If people are still alive, and we ain’t it for bein’ left? They’re likely to have an idea like Rick’s—head for the city. When they get there and find that there ain’t shit? They’re gonna come out here—hit the highway. It’d be safer to be far enough away that we can see them before they see us.” 

“All the more reason not to worried about not getting lost,” Shane said. “If we stay on main roads, we’re less protected.”

“I agree with Daryl,” T-Dog said. “Let’s clear the traffic here. Go on—ten or twenty miles, maybe. Start looking for something off the highway.” 

“So, we’re just deciding that we’re not going on to D.C.…just like that?” Rick asked.

“Right now, we ain’t goin’ no damn where,” Daryl said, clearly tired of having the same round-and-round discussions. “So, we best get to work before half a day lost turns into the whole damn day and we’re makin’ camp right here on the blacktop.” 

1111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

“I’m sorry,” Andrea said. “I just—I can’t do this. I just keep thinking about—about Amy and…Merle…and I…I’m sorry.” 

Carol kept rubbing large circles around Andrea’s back. She’d done pretty well for a while. 

While some of the men had worked rolling cars out of the way and moving them around like puzzle pieces to open up more and more space for them to move through the large traffic jam that, under further inspection, ran for a much longer distance than they’d originally realized, and others had put themselves to the task of siphoning off gas from every vehicle they moved, the women had put their efforts into picking through the vehicles and amassing goods. They planned to pack them into the backs of their own vehicles, planning to fill every available nook and cranny.

Carol didn’t know what had happened out here—or what exactly had caused all of this—but many of the cars held decaying bodies. Some showed evidence of suicide, but others didn’t. Some may have been killed by the wreck, others by the virus, and others—especially those with their doors ajar—may have actually been killed by Walkers, which would explain the torn-up bodies practically dripping over seatbelts as they rotted.

Andrea had been somewhat squeamish about reaching around the bodies, as they all had, since it was unpleasant to say the least, but she’d done it until she’d accidentally lost her balance when trying to reach across one of the bodies and had, in a way, fallen and sunk into the corpse. She’d vomited in response to her misfortune and, then, she’d dissolved into what Carol might call hysterics while stripping out of her clothes, as Carol’s mother would have said, in front of God and everyone else. 

She was mostly calm now, dressed in something clean, and she’d drank a half a bottle of water to calm her stomach, but she clearly didn’t want to return to the task at hand.

“Nobody’s enjoying this task, Andrea,” Lori said. “But this is how we provide for the group. If we all sat out everything that made us uncomfortable…”

Carol swallowed back the desire to say everything she thought about saying, at that moment, to Lori—especially about everything she managed to sit out on a regular basis and with a much worse excuse.

“It’s OK,” Carol said to Andrea, instead. “You don’t have to pick around the bodies. Take a couple of the empty cars. Or—just do the trunks. If you want, we need someone to start packing everything we’ve found into the RV. Dale made room for it, but someone’s got to move it in.” 

“Yeah,” Andrea said quickly. “I can do that. I can—put things away.” 

“Don’t worry,” Lori said, picking up an empty bag from the pile of bags they’d been gathering out of vehicles. “We’ll handle the dirty jobs.”

Carol rolled her eyes as Lori trailed off to go pluck water bottles and packs of crackers out of travelers’ luggage. She patted Andrea’s shoulder again.

“Don’t listen to her,” she said, shaking her head. “You’ve—lost a lot. And it’s natural that you’re uncomfortable with the bodies right now. Having this stuff put away will help us in the long run. At least we don’t have to rush to toss it somewhere when they get the cars moved. Just—get some air. Then, you can put this away and keep an eye on the kids,” Carol gestured toward Sophia and Carl who, remaining inside something of a circle created by everyone, were eating a snack together while sitting in the open back of a SUV. 

“Thanks,” Andrea said, squeezing Carol’s arm. “I really am sorry.” 

“Don’t say it again,” Carol said, only half-teasing. “And don’t listen to Lori. Loading stuff and helping Dale keep an eye on the kids is every bit as important as mining for peanut butter.” 

Carol left Andrea with that. She waved up at Dale who, sitting on top of the RV in a folding chair, was keeping watch for anything that might interest them or might appear over the horizon, while also keeping something of a watch on everyone in the group. He waved back at her from his perch. Then, she walked over to where Sophia and Carl were and, moving close to her daughter, she planted a kiss on her forehead—hot from the sun. She squeezed her, and Sophia laughed at her mother’s affection.

“Andrea’s right there,” Carol said. “She’s going to be loading all that stuff into the RV. You listen to her—both of you. Don’t wander off. Don’t leave her sight. And when you finish your snack? Help her carry things, OK?” 

Sophia quickly agreed and, just to be like Sophia, Carl agreed as well. Carol squeezed Sophia once more, gathered up a couple of the empty bags, and started making her way back through the maze of cars to find one that hadn’t been picked clean yet to work on.

Carol picked cars clean for a while. She stopped, every now and again, to glance around her and take inventory of everything that was going on. She made note of where everyone was. She drank a few bottles of water and dampened a rag that she used to wiped at her face and neck. 

She filled bags and piled them near her, deciding to carry quite a few of them in one load rather than to make a large number of trips all the way back to the RV—especially as she moved further and further away from it in her work. 

Like everyone, she was completely shocked and caught off guard by Dale’s shouts. Like everyone, it took her a moment to realize that Walkers were coming and, for Walkers, they seemed to be coming quickly. There was a large herd of them passing through on their way to wherever it was they got a notion to go. 

A wave of cold panic washed over Carol. Her blood felt like ice in her veins. There were Walkers, now, between her and Sophia and Andrea—both of whom would be near the RV—and there was a decent amount of distance between her and Daryl, who she had last seen walking toward some of their harvested items for a bottle of water or a cigarette.

Carol slid under the car nearest her, following the lead of Lori who was only one car away from her. Underneath the cars, Carol couldn’t see much—the passing by of feet and Lori, under the car next to her, was really all that the view allowed. Carol closed her eyes, held her breath, and prayed. She prayed for the herd to pass. She prayed for everyone to be left safe. She prayed for…everything.

And she stayed as still as she possibly could as the herd passed by her without realizing she was there.

When the last of the feet had shuffled by, and the majority of the Walkers seemed far enough behind her that it was safe to come out—Carol eased out from under the car on the side of the vehicle that landed her next to Lori. Lori dusted off her knees, like Carol, and they looked around. A few Walkers still shuffled here and there. Some commotion, out of nowhere, came from the direction of the RV.

Carol heard Andrea scream. She heard Dale yelling—words that she couldn’t understand. 

She heard Sophia and Carl scream.

She saw bodies moving in that direction—people she knew but, in the chaos of the moment, couldn’t even be bothered to recognize.

And then her heart stopped dead in her chest when she saw Sophia and Carl running, both as fast as they could, down the steep, grassy bank on the side of the highway—off toward the woods—with two Walkers shuffling behind them with more agility than any corpse ever should have had.

Carol was sure that she screamed, but the blood rushing in her own ears made it impossible to hear the sound.

She tried to run in that direction, but something held her back, nearly dropping her to her knees with suddenly stopped momentum. 

“My baby!” She screamed, finally managing to get words out that she could hear. “Those things are after my baby!”


End file.
